CULL 


The  Golden  Woman 


• 


m 


he  same  book   dear,  only  a  different  chapter. 


The  Golden  Woman 


A  Story  of  the  Montana  Hills 


By  RIDGWELL  CULLUM 


AUTHOR  OF 

"The  Way  of  the  Strong, "    "The  Law  Breakers,1 
4 'The  Trail  of  the  Axe,"      Etc. 


With  Frontispiece  in  Colors 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  Arrangement  with  GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
GEORGB  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 
Published  February,  i9l6 


All  rights  reserved 
Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


Contents 


I. 

0 

II. 

OVER  THE  TELEPHONE 

20 

III. 

THE  PARIAH     

.        26 

IV. 

Two  MEN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

•      39 

V. 

THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE 

•      54 

VI. 

OUT  OF  THE  STORM 

•      73 

VII. 

A  SIMPLE  MANHOOD 

.      85 

VIII. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  HILL 

.        .      96 

IX. 

GATHERING  FOR  THE  FEAST 

.     106 

X. 

SOLVING  THE  RIDDLE 

.     no 

XL 

THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST 

.       121 

XII. 

THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN       .        .        . 

n^ 

XIII. 

THE  CALL  OF  YOUTH 

.    149 

XIV. 

A  WHIRLWIND  VISIT 

.       .    158 

XV. 

THE  CLAIMS  OF  DUTY 

.       .    165 

XVI. 

GOLD  AND  ALLOY     .... 

.    177 

XVII. 

Two  POINTS  OF  VIEW 

.    187 

XVIII. 

WHEN  LIFE  HOLDS  No  SHADOWS     . 

.    204 

XIX. 

A  STUDY  IN  MISCHIEF 

.    217 

XX. 

THE  ABILITIES  OF  MRS.  RANSFORD   . 

.    229 

XXI. 

THE  MEETING  ON  THE  TRAIL  . 

.    240 

XXII. 

A  MAN'S  SUPPORT  .... 

.    246 

XXIII. 

THE  BRIDGING  OF  YEARS 

.       .    258 

XXIV. 

BEASLEY  PLAYS  THE  GAME 

•    273 

XXV. 

BUCK  LAUGHS  AT  FATE     . 

.    286 

XXVI. 

IRONY       ...... 

.    301 

M24620 

CONTENTS 


XXVII.  THE  WEB  OF  FATE     . 

XXVIII.  A  BLACK  NIGHT 

XXIX.  BEASLEY  IN  His  ELEMENT 

XXX.  THE  MOVING  FINGER  . 

XXXI.  THE  JOY  OF  BEASLEY  . 

XXXII.  STRONGER  THAN  DEATH 

XXXIII.  THE  TEMPEST  BREAKS 

XXXIV.  THE  EYES  OF  THE  HILLS 
XXXV.  FROM  OUT  OF  THE  ABYSS 

XXXVI.  THE  CATACLYSM 

XXXVII.  ALONE—   . 

XXXVIII.  —IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

XXXIX.  LOVE'S  VICTORY 


313 
325 

334 
356 
364 
374 
389 
402 
407 
420 
427 
432 
439 


The  Golden  Woman 


CHAPTER  I 

AUNT  MERCY  " 

AN  elderly  woman  looked  up  from  the  crystal  globe 
before  her.  The  sound  of  horse's  hoofs,  clattering  up  to 
the  veranda,  had  caught  her  attention.  But  the  hard, 
gray  eyes  had  not  yet  recovered  their  normal  frigidity  of 
expression.  There  were  still  traces  in  them  of  the  grop- 
ing mind,  searching  on,  amidst  the  chaos  of  a  world  un- 
seen. Nor  was  Mercy  Lascelles  posing  at  the  trade  which 
yielded  her  something  more  than  her  daily  bread.  She 
had  no  reason  for  pose.  She  was  an  ardent  and  proficient 
student  of  that  remote  science  which  has  for  its  field  of  re- 
search the  border-land  between  earthly  life  and  the  ulti- 
mate. 

For  some  moments  she  gazed  half-vacantly  through  the 
window.  Then  alertness  and  interest  came  back  to  her 
eyes,  and  her  look  resumed  its  normal  hardness.  It  was 
an  unlovely  face,  but  its  unloveliness  lay  in  its  expression. 
There  was  something  so  unyielding  in  the  keen,  aquiline 
nose  and  pointed  chin.  The  gray  eyes  were  so  cold.  The 
pronounced  brows  were  almost  threatening  in  their  mark- 
ing and  depression.  There  was  not  a  feature  in  her  face 
that  was  not  handsome,  and  yet,  collectively,  they  gave 
her  a  look  at  once  forbidding,  and  even  cruel. 


io  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

There  was  no  softening,  there  never  was  any  soften- 
ing in  Mercy  Lascelles'  attitude  toward  the  world  now. 
Years  ago  she  may  have  given  signs  of  the  gentler  emo- 
tions of  her  woman's  heart.  It  is  only  reasonable  to  sup- 
pose that  at  some  time  or  other  she  possessed  them.  But 
now  no  one  was  ever  permitted  beyond  the  harsh  exterior. 
Perhaps  she  owed  the  world  a  grudge.  Perhaps  she 
hoped,  by  closing  the  doors  of  her  soul,  her  attitude  would 
be  accepted  as  the  rebuff  she  intended  to  convey. 

"  Is  that  you,  Joan  ?  "  she  demanded  in  a  sharp,  mas- 
terful tone. 

"  It  certainly  is,  auntie,"  came  the  gentle,  girlish  re- 
sponse from  the  veranda. 

The  next  moment  the  door  of  the  little  morning-room 
opened,  and  a  tall  girl  stood  framed  in  its  white  setting. 

Joan  Stanmore  possessed  nothing  whatever  in  common 
with  her  aunt.  She  was  of  that  healthy  type  of  American 
girl  that  treats  athletics  as  a  large  part  of  her  education. 
She  was  tall  and  fair,  with  a  mass  of  red-gold  hair  tucked 
away  under  the  mannish  hat  which  was  part  of  her  dark 
green,  tightly-fitting  riding  habit.  Her  brow  was  broad, 
and  her  face,  a  perfect  oval,  was  open  and  starred  with  a 
pair  of  fearless  blue  eyes  of  so  deep  a  hue  as  to  be  almost 
violet.  Her  nose  and  mouth  were  delicately  moulded, 
but  her  greatest  beauty  lay  in  the  exquisite  peach-bloom 
of  her  soft,  fair  skin. 

Joan  Stanmore  was  probably  the  handsomest  girl  in  St. 
Ellis  City,  in  a  suburb  of  which  she  and  her  aunt  lived. 
She  was  certainly  one  of  the  most  popular  girls,  in  spite 
of  the  overshadowing  threat  of  an  aunt  whom  everybody 
disliked  and  whom  most  people  feared.  Her  disposition 
was  one  of  serene  gentleness,  yet  as  fearless  and  open  as 


AUNT  MERCY  11 

her  beautiful  eyes  suggested.  She  was  of  a  strongly  inde- 
pendent spirit  too,  but,  even  so,  the  woman  in  her  was 
never  for  a  moment  jeopardized  by  it ;  she  was  never  any- 
thing but  a  delightful  femininity,  rejoicing  wholesomely 
in  the  companionship  of  the  opposite  sex. 

She  and  her  aunt  had  lived  for  five  years  in  this  suburb 
of  St.  Ellis.  They  had  left  New  York  for  the  southwest 
because  the  profession  of  the  elder  woman  had  gained 
unpleasant  notoriety  in  that  city  of  contradictions.  The 
calling  of  the  seer  had  appealed  well  enough  to  the  citi- 
zens individually,  but  a  wave  of  moral  rectitude,  hurling 
its  municipal  government  spluttering  upon  a  broken  shore 
of  repentance,  had  decided  it  to  expurgate  such  wicked- 
ness from  its  midst,  lest  the  local  canker  become  a  pesti- 
lence which  might  jeopardize  the  immortal  soul  of  the 
citizen,  and,  incidentally,  hand  the  civic  control  over  to  the 
opposition  party. 

So  aunt  and  orphaned  niece  had  moved  westward,  seek- 
ing immunity  in  a  region  where  such  obscure  professions 
were  regarded  with  a  more  lenient  eye.  Joan  had  little 
enough  sympathy  with  her  relative's  studies.  She  neither 
believed  in  them,  nor  did  she  disbelieve.  She  was  so 
young,  and  so  full  of  that  vitality  which  makes  for  the 
wholesome  enjoyment  of  life,  as  viewed  through  eyes  as 
yet  undimmed  by  the  bitterness  of  experience,  that  she  had 
neither  time,  place,  nor  serious  thought  for  such  matters. 
Her  only  interest,  if  interest  it  could  be  called,  was  an  oc- 
casional wonderment  at  the  extent  of  the  harvest  Aunt 
Mercy  reaped  out  of  the  credulity  of  the  merchant  and 
finance-princes  of  the  city.  This,  and  the  state  of  her 
aunt's  health,  as  pronounced  by  Dr.  Valmer,  were  the 
only  things  which  ever  brought  such  matters  as  "  crystal 


12  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

gazing"  and  scientific  astrology  into  her  mind.  Other- 
wise horoscopes,  prognostications,  warnings,  omens, 
passed  her  by  as  mere  words  to  raise  a  smile  of  youthful 
derision  at  the  expense  of  those  who  heaped  money  for 
such  readings  into  the  seer's  lap. 

Joan  was  in  no  way  dependent  upon  her  aunt.  Living 
with  her  was  a  matter  of  personal  choice.  Mercy  Las- 
celles  was  her  only  relative  for  one  thing,  and  the  elder 
woman  being  a  lonely  spinster,  it  seemed  only  right  that 
Joan  should  make  her  home  under  her  scarcely  hospitable 
roof.  Then,  too,  there  was  another  reason  which  influ- 
enced the  girl.  It  was  a  purely  sentimental  reason,  such 
as  at  her  age  might  well  appeal  to  her.  A  whisper  had 
reached  her  to  the  effect  that,  hard  and  unsympathetic  as 
her  Aunt  Mercy  was,  romance  at  one  time  had  place  in 
her  life — a  romance  which  left  her  the  only  sufferer,  a 
romance  that  had  spelt  a  life's  disaster  for  her.  To  the 
adamantine  fortune-teller  was  attributed  a  devotion  so 
strong,  so  passionate  in  the  days  of  her  youth  that  her 
reason  had  been  well-nigh  unhinged  by  the  hopelessness 
of  it.  The  object  of  it  was  her  own  sister's  husband, 
Joan's  father.  It  was  said  that  at  the  moment  of  his 
death  Mercy  Lascelles'  youth  died  too.  All  softness,  all 
gentleness  passed  out  of  her  life  and  left  her  the  hard, 
prematurely  aged  woman  she  now  was. 

As  a  consequence  Joan  felt  that  her  duty  lay  beside  a 
woman  whom  Fate  had  treated  so  ill ;  that  duty  demanded 
that  an  effort  must  be  made  to  bring  a  little  brightness 
into  so  solitary  and  loveless  a  life. 

So  her  choice  was  made.  And  as  she  grew  accustomed 
to  the  stern  companionship  she  often  found  herself  won- 
dering how  a  woman  of  such  curiously  harsh  disposition 


AUNT  MERCY  13 

could  ever  have  been  the  victim  of  such  a  passion  as  was 
attributed  to  her.  It  was  almost  inconceivable,  especially 
when  she  tried  to  picture  the  father,  whom  she  had  never 
known,  but  who  was  reputed  to  be  such  an  intensely  hu- 
man man,  so  full  of  the  many  frailties  of  a  Wall  Street 
gambler. 

Joan  now  saw  the  crystal  lying  in  her  aunt's  lap.  She 
saw,  too,  the  fevered  eyes  lifted  to  her  face.  And  with  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  of  disaster  pending  she  moved 
across  to  the  window-seat  and  flung  herself  upon  the  pile 
of  down  cushions. 

"  I  do  hope  you're  not — not  seeing  things  again, 
auntie,"  she  said  in  an  anxious  voice,  her  eyes  fixed  re- 
sentfully upon  the  detested  crystal.  "You  know  Dr. 
Valmer  forbade  you — practicing  for  at  least  six  months," 
she  added  warningly. 

"  Dr.  Valmer's  a  fool,"  came  the  sharp  retort. 

The  girl  flushed.  It  was  not  the  words:  it  was  the 
manner  that  could  so  hurt.  But  this  time  she  felt  it  her 
duty  to  continue.  Her  aunt's  health  was  seriously  af- 
fected, and  the  doctor  had  warned  her  personally  about  it. 

"  I  dare  say  he  is,  auntie,"  she  protested.  "  But  you 
pay  him  good  dollars  for  being  one.  What  is  the  use  of 
it  if  you  don't  take  his  advice  ?  " 

Just  fora  second  a  peculiar  look  flashed  into  Mercy's  eyes 
Then  she  allowed  them  to  drop  to  the  crystal  in  her  lap. 

"  Go  and  change  your  habit.  It  will  keep  you  busy  on 
your  own  affairs.  They  need  all  your  attention — just 
now." 

The  rudeness  left  Joan  untouched.  She  was  too  seri- 
ously concerned. 

Mercy  Lascelles    had  only  recently  recovered  from  a 


14  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

bad  nervous  breakdown,  the  result,  so  Dr.  Valmer,  the 
specialist,  assured  her,  of  the  enormous  strain  of  her  stud- 
ies. He  had  warned  Joan  of  the  danger  to  her  aunt's 
mental  balance,  and  begged  her  to  use  every  effort  to 
keep  her  from  her  practice.  But  Joan  found  her  task 
well-nigh  impossible,  and  the  weight  of  her  responsibility 
was  heavy  upon  her. 

She  turned  away  to  the  window  and  gazed  out.  She 
was  feeling  rather  hopeless.  There  were  other  things 
worrying  her  too,  small  enough  things,  no  doubt,  but  suf- 
ficiently personal  to  trouble  her  youthful  heart  and  shadow 
all  her  thought  with  regret.  She  was  rapidly  learning 
that  however  bright  the  outlook  of  her  life  might  be  there 
were  always  clouds  hovering  ready  to  obscure  the  smiling 
of  her  sun. 

She  looked  at  the  sky  as  though  the  movement  were 
inspired  by  her  thought.  There  was  the  early  summer 
sun  blazing  down  upon  an  already  parching  earth.  And 
there,  too,  were  the  significant  clouds,  fleecy  white  clouds 
for  the  most  part,  but  all  deepening  to  a  heavy,  gray 
density.  At  any  moment  they  might  obscure  that  ruddy 
light  and  pour  out  their  dismal  measure  of  discomfort, 
turning  the  world  from  a  smiling  day-dream  to  a  night- 
mare of  drab  regret. 

Her  mood  lightened  as  she  turned  to  the  picture  of  the 
garden  city  in  which  they  lived.  It  was  called  a  garden 
city,  but,  more  properly,  it  was  a  beautiful  garden  village, 
or  hamlet.  The  place  was  all  hills  and  dales,  wood-clad 
from  their  crowns  to  the  deepest  hollows  in  which  the 
sandy,  unmade  roads  wound  their  ways. 

Here  and  there,  amidst  the  perfect  sunlit  woodlands, 
she  could  see  the  flashes  of  white,  which  indicated  homes 


... 


AUNT  MERCY 


similar  to  their  owi  They  were  scattered  in  a  cunningly 
haphazard  fashion  so  as  to  preserve  the  rural  aspect  of  the 
place,  and  constructed  on  lines  that  could  under  no  cir- 
cumstances offend  the  really  artistic  eye.  And  yet  each 
house  was  the  last  word  in  modernity  ;  each  house  rep- 
resented the  abiding-place  of  considerable  wealth. 

Yes,  there  was  something  very  beautiful  in  all  this  life 
with  which  she  was  surrounded.  The  pity  of  it  was  that 
there  must  be  those  clouds  always  hovering.  She  glanced 
up  at  the  sky  again.  And  with  a  shiver  she  realized  that 
the  golden  light  had  vanished,  and  a  great  storm-cloud 
was  ominously  spreading  its  purplish  pall. 

At  that  moment  her  aunt's  voice,  low  and  significant, 
reached  her  from  across  the  room.  And  its  tone  told  her 
at  once  that  she  was  talking  to  herself. 

"  You  fool — you  poor  fool.  It  awaits  you  as  surely  as 
it  awaits  everybody  else.  Ride  on.  Your  fate  awaits 
you.  And  thank  your  God  it  is  kept  hidden  from  your 
blinded  eyes." 

Joan  started. 

"  Auntie!" 

A  pair  of  cold,  gray  eyes  lifted  to  her  face.  The  shak- 
ing, bony  hands  clutched  nervously  at  the  crystal.  The 
eyes  stared  unseeingly  into  the  girl's  face  for  some  mo- 
ments, then  slowly  the  fever  crept  into  them  again — the 
fever  which  the  doctor  had  warned  Joan  against. 

"  Oh,  auntie,  put — put  that  away."  Joan  sprang  from 
her  seat  and  ran  to  the  other's  side,  where  she  knelt 
imploringly.  "Don't — don't  talk  so.  You — frighten 
me."  Then  she  hurried  on  as  though  to  distract  the 
woman's  attention.  "  Listen  to  me.  I  want  to  tell  you 
about  my  ride.  I  want  to  tell  about " 


16  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  You  need  tell  me  nothing.  I  know  it  all,"  Mercy 
broke  in,  roughly  pushing  the  clinging  hands  from  about 
her  spare  waist.  "You  rode  with  young  Sorley  this 
morning — Dick  Sorley.  He  asked  you  to  marry  him. 
He  told  you  that  since  he  had  known  you  he  had  made  a 
small  fortune  on  Wall  Street.  That  he  had  followed  you 
here  because  you  were  the  only  woman  in  the  world  for 
him.  He  told  you  that  life  without  you  was  impossible, 
and  many  other  foolish  things  only  fitted  for  the  credulity 
of  a  young  girl.  You  refused  him.  You  regretted  your 
refusal  in  conventional  words.  And  he  rode  away,  back 
to  his  hotel,  and — his  fate." 

The  girl  listened  breathlessly,  wondering  at  the  ac- 
curacy of  this  harsh  recapitulation  of  the  events  of  her 
morning  ride.  But  as  the  final  words  fell  from  the  seer's 
lips  she  cried  out  in  protest  — 

"Oh,  auntie.  His  fate?  How?  How?  What  do 
you  mean  ?  How  do  you  know  all  this  ?  " 

Joan  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  stood  eyeing  her  aunt  in 
wonder  and  amazement.  The  elder  woman  fondled  her 
crystal  in  her  thin  hands.  A  look  akin  to  joy  suddenly 
leapt  into  her  burning  eyes.  Her  lips  were  parted  so  that 
they  almost  smiled. 

"  It  is  here,  here.  All  here,"  she  declared  exultingly. 
"  The  mandates  of  Fate  are  voiced  amongst  the  stars,  and 
the  moving  hand  delineates  unerringly  the  enactments — 
here — here."  She  raised  the  crystal  and  gazed  upon  it 
with  eyes  alight  with  ecstasy.  "  It  is  for  the  eye  to  see,  and 
for  the  mind  to  read.  But  the  brain  that  comprehends 
must  know  no  thought  of  human  passions,  no  human 
emotions.  There  is  nothing  hidden  in  all  the  world  from 
those  who  seek  with  the  power  of  heart  and  brain." 


AUNT  MERCY  17 

Joan's  amazement  passed.  It  was  replaced  by  some- 
thing like  horror  and  even  terror  as  she  listened.  To  her 
the  words  were  dreadful,  they  spoke  of  the  woman's  strain- 
ing brain,  and  her  thoughts  flew  to  the  doctor's  verdict. 
Was  this  the  madness  he  had  feared  ?  Was  this  the  final 
crash  of  a  brain  driven  to  breaking-point  ?  The  questions 
flew  through  her  mind  only  to  be  swept  aside  by  the  rec- 
ollection of  what  her  aunt  had  told  her  of  her  morning 
ride.  It  was  true — true.  Every  word  of  it.  Where 
could  the  insanity  lie  ?  No— no.  It  could  not  be.  But 
— but — such  a  power ! 

Her  thoughts  were  cut  short.  Again  her  aunt  was 
speaking.  But  now  her  voice  had  once  more  resumed 
its  customary  harshness.  The  fire  had  died  out  of  her 
eyes.  Again  the  dreaded  crystal  was  lying  in  her  lap, 
fondled  by  loving  fingers.  And  something  approaching 
a  chuckle  of  malice  was  underlying  the  words  which 
flowed  so  rapidly  from  her  thin  lips. 

"  Haven't  you  learned  yet  ?  Can't  you  read  what  the 
hand  of  Fate  is  trying  to  point  out  to  your  blinded  eyes  ? 
Did  not  the  man  Cahusac  ask  you  to  marry  him  ?  Did 
not  you  refuse  him?  And  did  not  he  die  of  typhoid 
within  two  weeks  of  committing  that  foolishness  ?  And 
Charlie  Hemming.  He  dared  to  make  love  to  you. 
What  then  ?  Didn't  he  make  a  fortune  on  the  Cotton 
Exchange?  Didn't  he  tell  you  that  it  was  you 
who  brought  him  his  luck?  Luck?  Your  luck  is 
disaster — disaster  disguised.  What  happened?  Hem- 
ming plunged  into  an  orgie  of  riotous  living  when  you 
refused  him.  Didn't  he  squander  his  fortune,  bolt  to 
Mexico,  and  in  twelve  months  didn't  he  get  shot  as  a 
rebel  and  a  renegade,  and  thus  add  himself  to  the  list  of 


18  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

the  victims  of  your — so-called  '  luck  '  ?  Luck  !  Oh,  the 
madness,  the  blindness  of  it !  " 

The  woman's  passionate  bitterness  had  lost  all  sense  of 
proportion.  She  saw  only  through  her  straining  nerves. 
And  the  injustice  of  it  all  brought  swift  protest  to  Joan's 
lips. 

"  You  are  wrong.  You  are  cruel — bitterly,  wickedly 
cruel,  auntie,"  she  cried.  "  How  am  I  responsible  ? 
What  have  I  done  ?  " 

In  an  instant  the  gray  eyes  were  turned  upon  her  with 
something  akin  to  ferocity,  and  her  voice  rang  with  passion. 

"  Wrong  ?  Cruel  ?  I  am  stating  undeniable  facts.  I 
am  telling  you  what  has  happened.  And  now  I  am  go- 
ing to  tell  you  the  result  of  your  morning's  ride.  How 
are  you  responsible  ?  What  have  you  done  ?  Dick 
Sorley  has  gone  to  his  fate  as  surely  as  though  you  had 
thrust  a  knife  through  his  heart." 

"  Aunt !     How— how  dare ?  " 

"  How  dare  I  say  such  things  ?  Because  I  am  telling 
you  the  truth — which  you  cannot  bear  to  face.  You  must 
and  shall  hear  it.  Who  are  you  to  escape  the  miseries  of 
life  such  as  we  all  have  to  suffer?  Such  as  you  have 
helped  to  make  me  suffer." 

"Don't — don't!"  Joan  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  as  though  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  that  cruel,  worlr- 
ing  face  before  her — as  though  to  shut  out  of  her  mhrJ 
the  ruthless  accusation  hurled  at  her. 

But  the  seer  was  full  of  the  bitterness  so  long  stored  up 
in  her  heart,  and  the  moment  had  come  when  she  could 
no  longer  contain  it  beneath  the  cold  mask  she  had  worn 
for  twenty  years.  The  revelation  was  hers.  Her  strange 
mind  and  senses  had  witnessed  the  scenes  that  now  held 


AUNT  MERCY  19 

her  in  the  grip  of  their  horror.  They  had  driven  her  to 
the  breaking-point,  and  no  longer  had  she  thought  for 
anything  but  her  own  sufferings,  and  the  injustice  that  a 
pariah  should  walk  at  large,  unknown  to  the  world,  un- 
known to  itself. 

"  Don't?  "  The  woman  laughed  mirthlessly.  Her  thin 
lips  parted,  but  the  light  in  her  eyes  was  unrelenting.  u  I 
tell  you  it  is  so.  Dick  Sorley  has  gone  to  his  fate.  Straight 
to  his  doom  from  your  side.  You  sent  him  to  it.  I  have 
witnessed  the  whole  enactment  of  it  here — in  this  crystal. 
You,  and  you  alone,  have  killed  him — killed  him  as  surely 
as  though  you  had  deliberately  murdered  him  1  Hark  I 
That  is  the  telephone  bell  ringing " 

She  paused  as  the  shrill  peal  of  the  instrument  rang 
through  the  room.  There  was  a  prolonged  ringing- 
Then  it  broke  off.  Then  again  and  again  it  rang,  in 
short,  impatient  jerks. 

"  Go  to  it,  girl.  Go  and  listen  to  the  message.  You 
say  I  am  cruel.  Hear  what  that  senseless  thing  has  to 
tell  you.  Listen  to  the  voice  at  the  other  end.  It  is  at 
the  hospital.  The  doctor  is  there,  and  he  will  speak  to 
you.  And  in  a  ward  adjacent,  your  discarded  lover  lies 
—dead." 


CHAPTER  II 

OVER  THE  TELEPHONE 

FROM  the  depths  of  her  high-backed  chair  Mercy  Las- 
celles  stared  at  the  white  door  beyond  which  Joan  had 
just  vanished.  Her  gaunt  figure  was  no  longer  huddled 
over  the  fateful  crystal  she  still  clutched  in  her  two  hands. 
Her  brain  was  busy,  and  her  eyes  were  hot  and  feverish. 

She  was  not  thinking  of  the  girl.  She  was  not  even 
thinking  of  the  message  traveling  over  the  wire  at  that 
moment.  That  she  knew.  For  her  it  had  no  greater 
significance  than  that  it  was  the  corroboration  necessary 
to  convince  the  girl  who  was  receiving  it — to  convince 
her  of  the  truth  of  that  which  she  had  charged  her  with, 

Her  mind  was  far  away,  back  in  the  dim  years  of  her 
earlier  womanhood.  Back  amidst  scenes  of  disaster 
through  which  she  had  long  since  passed.  All  the  old 
pain  and  suffering  was  at  the  surface  again.  Again  was 
she  torn  by  the  bitterness  and  injustice  that  had  robbed 
her  of  all  that  seemed  good  to  her  in  life.  Again 
through  her  mental  picture  moved  the  figures  of  two  men 
and  one  woman,  the  characters  who  went  to  make  up  the 
cast  of  her  wretched  drama.  Her  feelings  were  once 
more  afire  with  hatred,  hatred  for  one,  and,  for  the  others, 
a  profound,  contemptuous  bitterness. 

But  hatred  was  dominant.  The  memory  of  one  of  those 
men  had  always  power  to  drive  her  to  the  verge  of  mad- 
ness. He  was  a  handsome,  brown-haired  man  of  power- 


OVER  THE  TELEPHONE  21 

ful  physique.  A  man  whose  gentle  manner  and  swift, 
hot  temper  she  abhorred,  and  the  memory  of  whose  in- 
fluence upon  her  life  had  still  power  to  grind  to  ashes 
every  gentle  feeling  she  ever  possessed. 

It  was  of  one  of  his  terrible  tempers  she  was  thinking 
now.  He  had  displayed  a  fury  she  could  never,  would 
never  forget.  It  was  a  memory  that  tripped  her  even 
now  at  every  turn,  till  it  had  become  something  akin  to 
an  obsession. 

Every  detail  of  the  scene  was  as  clear  cut  in  her  mind 
as  a  hideous  cameo,  every  word  he  had  uttered,  the  ac- 
cusations, the  insinuations  he  had  made.  Even  the  room, 
with  its  simple  furnishings,  its  neatness,  its  air  of  care — 
her  care — stood  out  sharply  in  her  memory.  She  remem- 
bered it  all  so  well.  She  was  in  the  midst  of  preparing 
Charles  Stanmore's  supper,  and  Joan,  only  a  couple  of 
weeks  old,  was  fast  asleep  in  an  adjoining  bedroom.  He 
had  chosen  this  time  to  call,  because  he  knew  that  she, 
Mercy,  would  be  alone. 

She  remembered  his  handsome  face  clouded  with  sullen 
anger  and  jealousy  when  she  let  him  in  at  the  door  of  the 
apartment.  And  then  his  first  words  when  he  took  up 
his  position  before  the  hard-coal  stove  in  the  parlor  — 

"  So  you've  pitched  everything  to  the  devil,  and  taken 
up  your  abode  with  Charlie,"  he  began,  in  tones  of  jealous 
fury.  "And  he — he  is  your  brother-in-law." 

There  was  no  mistaking  his  meaning.  He  intended 
that  she  should  make  no  mistake,  for  he  added  a  laugh 
— a  hateful  laugh — to  his  words. 

This  was  the  man  who  had  asked  her  to  marry  him  al- 
most numberless  times.  This  was  the  man  whom  she 
had  refused  time  and  again,  making  it  plain  that,  how- 


22  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

ever  hopelessly,  her  love  was  given  to  another.  This  was 
the  man  who  knew  that  she  had  come  at  her  sister's  death 
to  care  for  the  little,  new-born,  motherless,  baby  girl,  and 
help  the  man  whom  she  had  always  loved  out  of  the  hope- 
less dilemma  in  which  he  found  himself.  This  was  the 
man  who  was  the  lifelong  friend  of  Charles  Stanmore, 
whose  mistress  he  was  accusing  her  of  having  become. 

She  remembered  the  sudden  anger  which  leapt  to  he^ 
brain.  She  remembered,  too,  the  thought  which  came  in 
its  midst,  and  formulated  her  instant  retort. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  coldly.     "  I  have." 

Then  she  saw  the  real  man  as  she  had  now  come  to  re- 
gard him.  She  remembered  the  sudden  blaze  of  his  eyes, 
the  ghastly  pallor  of  his  face,  the  look  of  almost  insane 
jealousy  which  he  turned  upon  her.  And  then  came  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  insult,  those  words  which  had  seared 
themselves  upon  her  woman's  heart  as  though  branded 
thereon  with  red-hot  irons. 

"  And  you  are  the  woman  I  have  loved.  Woman  ?  " 
He  laughed.  "  It's  too  good  for  you.  Do  you  know 
what  we  men  call  such  creatures  as  you  ?  All  this  time 
you  have  waited — waited,  and  the  moment  your  poor  sis- 
ter is  in  her  grave,  almost  before  the  blood  in  her  veins  is 
cold,  you  seize  your  opportunity  to  fulfil  your  mad  desire, 
Taking  advantage  of  Charlie's  wretchedness  and  trouble, 
you  force  yourself  upon  him.  You  force  a  position  upon 
him  from  which  there  is  no  escape.  The  world  will  accept 
the  position  at  the  value  you  intend,  and  he  is  powerless  to 
do  anything  but  accept  it  too.  You  meant  to  have  him,  and 
I  suppose  he  is  yours  by  now.  And  all  this  time  I  have 
wasted  an  honest  love  on  you — you " 

And  she  had  answered  him,  calmly  and  deliberately, 


OVER  THE  TELEPHONE  23 

before  he  could  utter  the  filthy  epithet  she  knew  he  in- 
tended. 

"  Please  keep  your  voice  down,  or  —  or  you'll  wake  little 


Even  now  she  could  never  quite  understand  her  own 
attitude  at  the  moment.  Something  inside  her  was  urg- 
ing her  to  fly  at  his  throat  and  tear  the  foul  words  from  it. 
Yet  there  was  something  gripping  her,  something  com- 
pelling her  to  a  calmness  she  was  powerless  to  resist. 

Then,  as  swiftly  as  he  had  blazed  into  fury,  had  come  a 
miraculous  change  in  the  man.  Perhaps  it  was  the  effect 
of  her  calm,  perhaps  it  was  something  in  the  man  him- 
self. Anyway  the  madness  abruptly  died  out  of  his  eyes 
and  left  him  shaking.  He  strove  to  speak,  but  no  words 
came.  He  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead  as  though 
to  remove  something  that  was  clouding  his  brain.  He 
turned  from  her  fixed  stare  as  though  he  could  no  longer 
support  it.  He  moved  across  the  room.  He  hesitated. 
He  turned  to  her.  She  did  not  see  the  movement,  for  her 
back  was  now  turned,  but  somehow  she  felt  it. 

Then  she  heard  his  footsteps  again,  and,  finally,  the 
rattle  of  the  door  handle  as  he  clutched  it.  After  that 
came  his  voice.  All  the  anger,  the  jealousy,  had  gone 
out  of  it.  It  was  low,  gentle,  imploring.  But  she  did 
not  move. 

"Mercy,  Mercy  !     For  —  forgive  me.     I  -  " 

"  Never  !  " 

Oh,  the  scorn,  the  hatred  she  had  flung  into  the  word  ! 

The  next  she  remembered  was  that  he  passed  swiftly 
and  silently  from  the  room.  Then,  then  at  last  her 
woman's  weakness,  a  weakness  she  now  so  cordially  de- 
spised, overcame  her,  and  she  fell  into  a  chair  and  wept. 


24  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

But  her  weakness  was  short-lived.  Her  spirit  rose  in 
rebellion,  and  her  tears  ceased  to  flow  as  the  cruel  iron 
entered  her  soul.  She  pondered  long  and  deeply,  and 
presently  she  went  on  with  her  preparations  for  Charles 
Stanmore's  supper  as  though  nothing  unusual  had  oc- 
curred. 

Nor,  when  he  came  home,  did  she  tell  him,  nor  did 
she  ever  by  word  or  act  permit  the  secret  of  that  inter- 
view to  pass  out  of  her  keeping.  But  the  memory  of 
it  was  forever  with  her.  Day  and  night  she  hugged 
it  to  herself,  she  nursed  it,  and  fostered  it  for  all  those 
twenty  years,  the  bitterness,  the  cruel  injustice  of  the 
insult,  grinding  its  way  till  it  became  a  part  of  the  very 
essence  of  her  being. 

Suddenly  a  cry  broke  in  upon  her  reverie.  She  started, 
and  her  eyes  lit  with  a  gleam  of  satisfaction.  Her  mind 
had  returned  to  the  present,  and  she  called  out  — 

"Joan!" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  left  her  seat,  and, 
crossing  swiftly  to  the  door,  flung  it  wide  open. 

Joan  staggered  in,  and,  dropping  into  the  welcoming 
arms  of  a  rocking-chair,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Mercy  Lascelles  stood  silently  contemplating  the  bowed 
head.  There  was  no  sympathy  in  her  attitude.  Her 
heart  was  cold  and  hard  as  steel.  But  she  was  interested 
in  the  cause  rather  than  the  effect. 

After  a  while  the  storm  of  grief  slackened.  The  rack- 
ing sobs  came  at  longer  intervals.  Then  it  was  that  Mercy 
Lascelles  broke  the  silence. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  demanded  sharply. 

The  tear-stained  face  was  slowly  lifted,  and  the  sight  of 
the  girl's  distress  was  heart-breaking. 


OVER  THE  TELEPHONE  25 

"  He  is  dead,"  Joan  said  in  a  choking  voice.  Then, 
with  something  like  resentment — "Are — are  you  satis- 
fied?" 

Mercy  went  back  to  her  chair  and  her  beloved  crystal. 
And  after  a  moment  she  began  to  speak  in  a  low,  even 
tone,  as  though  reciting  a  well-learnt  lesson. 

"  It  was  at  the  crossing  of  36th  Street  and  Lisson 
Avenue,  here  the  street  cars  cross,  here  some  also  turn 
off,  It  was  the  fault  of  his  horse.  The  creature  shied  at 
a  heavy  truck.  Two  cars  were  approaching  from  east  and 
west.  The  shying  horse  slipped  on  the  granite  paving, 
fell,  and  was  caught  between  the  two  meeting  cars  before 
they  could  pull  up.  The  horse  was  killed  on  the  spot, 
and — the  rider  was " 

"  Don't,  auntie  i  Don't  say  it !  Yes,  yes,  he  was  taken 
to  the  hospital,  and  died  of  his  injuries.  But  don't  speak 
of  his  terrible  mutilations.  I — I  can't  bear  it." 

Again  Joan  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  as  though  to 
shut  out  the  horror  of  it  all.  But  the  elder  woman  had 
no  such  scruples. 

"  Why  harrow  yourself  with  the  picture  ? "  she  de- 
manded brusquely  "  Imagination  can  add  nothing  to 
the  fact.  Tears  will  not  change  one  detail.  They  will 
only  add  to  your  distress.  Dick  Sorley  left  your  side  to 
go  to  certain  death.  Nothing  could  have  averted  that 
Such  was  his  fate — through  you." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  PARIAH 

JOAN  suddenly  threw  up  her  head.  There  was  resent- 
ment in  the  violet  depths  of  her  eyes,  and  her  whole  ex- 
pression had  hardened.  It  was  as  though  something  o: 
her  youth,  her  softness,  had  passed  from  her. 

"  You  must  tell  me,  auntie,"  she  demanded  in  a  tone  as 
cold  as  the  other's.  "  I — I  don't  understand.  But  I  mean 
to.  You  accuse  me  with  the  responsibility  of — this.  Of 
responsibility  for  all  that  has  happened  to  those  others. 
You  tell  me  I  am  cursed.  It  is  all  too  much — or  too  little. 
Now  I  demand  to  know  that  which  you  know — all  that 
there  is  to  know.  It  is  my  right.  I  never  knew  my  father 
or  mother,  and  you  have  told  me  little  enough  of  them. 
Well,  I  insist  that  you  shall  tell  me  the  right  by  which 
you  dare  to  say  such  things  to  me.  I  know  you  are  cruel, 
that  you  have  no  sympathy  for  any  one  but — yourself.  I 
know  that  you  grudge  the  world  every  moment  of  happi- 
ness that  life  contains.  Well,  all  this  I  try  to  account  for 
by  crediting  you  with  having  passed  through  troubles  of 
which  I  have  no  knowledge.  But  it  does  not  give  you 
the  right  to  charge  me  with  the  things  you  do.  You 
shall  tell  me  now  the  reason  of  your  accusations,  or  I  will 
leave  this  home  forever,  and  will  never,  of  my  own  free 
will,  set  eyes  on  you  again." 

Mercy's  thin  lips  parted  into  a  half-smile. 

"  And  I  intend  that  you  shall  know  these  things,"  she 
replied  promptly.  "  You  shall  know  them  from  my  lips. 


THE  PARIAH  27 

Nor  has  any  one  more  right  to  the  telling  than  I."  The 
smile  died  abruptly,  leaving  her  burning  eyes  shining  in 
an  icy  setting.  "  I  am  cruel,  eh?  "  she  went  on  intensely. 
"  Cruel  because  I  have  refused  to  bend  beneath  the  in- 
justice of  my  fellows  and  the  persecutions  of  Fate.  Cruel 
because  I  meet  the  world  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  has  re- 
ceived me.  Why  should  I  have  sympathy  ?  The  world 
has  robbed  me  of  the  only  happiness  I  ever  desired. 
What  obligation,  then,  is  mine  ?  You  are  right.  I  have 
no  sympathy  for  any  living  creature — none  !  " 

Joan  offered  no  comment.  She  was  waiting — waiting 
for  the  explanation  she  had  demanded.  She  was  no 
longer  the  young  girl  just  returned  flushed  with  the 
healthy  glow  of  her  morning  ride.  Life  had  taken  on  a 
fresh  tone  for  her  since  then.  It  seemed  as  if  years  had 
suddenly  passed  over  her  head  and  carried  her  into  the 
middle  of  life. 

"You  shall  have  your  explanation,"  Mercy  went  on 
after  a  moment's  pause.  "  I  will  give  it  you  from  the 
beginning.  I  will  show  you  how  it  comes  that  you  are  a 
pariah,  shedding  disaster  upon  all  men  who  come  under 
your  influence." 

"A  pariah!" 

Joan's  eyes  suddenly  lit  with  horror  at  the  loathsome 
epithet. 

"Yes.  Pariah!"  There  was  no  mistaking  the  satis- 
faction which  the  use  of  the  word  seemed  to  give  the 
other  woman.  In  her  eyes  was  a  challenge  which  defied 
all  protest. 

As  Joan  had  no  further  comment  she  went  on  — 

"  But  they  were  all  blind — blind  to  the  curse  under 
which  you  were  born — under  which  you  live.  You  shall 


28  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

have  your  wish.  You  shall  know  the  right  which  I  have 
for  charging  these  things  at  your  door.  And  the  knowl- 
edge of  it  will  forever  shatter  the  last  castle  of  your  day- 
dreams." 

Something  of  awe  took  hold  of  the  listening  girl. 
Something  of  terror,  too.  What  was  J:he  mystery  into 
which  she  was  blindly  delving  ?  Knowing  her  aunt  as 
she  did,  she  felt,  by  her  manner,  that  her  words  were  the 
prelude  to  disclosures  that  meant  disaster  to  herself.  And 
as  the  other  proceeded  her  half-frightened  eyes  watched 
her,  fascinated  by  the  deliberateness  of  manner  and  the 
passionate  sincerity  underlying  every  word  of  the  story 
she  told. 

"Listen,"  she  said,  checking  her  voice  to  a  low,  even 
monotone.  "  You  are  the  child  of  disaster  if  ever  woman 
was.  Your  father  was  a  poor,  weak  fool,  a  big,  hand- 
some, good-hearted  fool  whom  Nature  had  endowed  with 
nothing  more  than  a  perfect  exterior.  He  was  a  Wall 
Street  man,  of  a  sort.  One  of  those  gamblers  who  live 
on  the  fringe  of  the  big  financial  circles,  and  most  of 
whom  gather  their  livelihood  from  the  crumbs  falling 
from  the  rich  man's  table,  but  are  ready  to  steal  them 
when  the  fall  is  not  sufficient  to  fill  their  hungry  mouths. 
For  three  years  he  and  I  were  engaged  to  be  married." 

She  paused,  and  her  hot  eyes  dropped  to  the  crystal  in 
her  lap.  Then  she  went  on,  with  harsh  sarcasm  breaking 
the  level  of  her  tone — 

"  For  three  years  we  waited  for  the  coming  of  that 
trifling  luck  which  would  enable  us  to  marry.  For  three 
years  I  worked  silently,  joyfully,  to  fill  the  wonderful  bot- 
tom drawer  which  never  failed  to  inspire  me  with  courage 
and  hope.  You  see  I — loved  your  father." 


THE  PARIAH  29 

Again  she  paused,  and  Joan  forgot  something  of  her 
own  trouble  as  she  noted  the  evident  pain  these  memories 
gave  to  her  aunt. 

"  The  luck  came.  It  was  small  enough.  But  with  the 
little  money  I  had  it  was  just  sufficient.  The  license  was 
procured.  The  wedding  was  fixed.  And  I — well,  God 
was  good,  the  world  was  good,  and  life  was  a  joy  beyond 
all  dreams.  You  see  I,  too,  was  young  then.  My  only 
relative  was  a  younger  sister.  She  was  a  beautiful  girl 
with  red-gold  hair.  And  she  was  in  business  in  Califor- 
nia. I  sent  for  her  to  come  to  the  wedding.'* 

Joan  gave  a  tense  sigh.  She  knew  what  was  to  follow. 
The  red-gold  hair  told  its  own  story.  Mercy  Lascelles 
raised  a  pair  of  stony  eyes,  and  her  thin  lips  were  smiling. 

"  I  can  see  you  understand,"  she  said,  without  emotion. 
"  Yes,  she  came,  and  she  stole  your  father  from  me.  Oh, 
yes  1  she  was  handsome  enough  to  steal  any  man.  She 
was  even  more  beautiful  than  you  are.  It  was  just  before 
we  were  to  be  married.  Less  than  a  week.  A  good  time 
to  steal  him  from  me — after  three  years  of  waiting."  She 
laughed  bitterly.  "  She  stole  him,  and  I — I  cursed  her. 
Oh,  I  didn't  cry  out !  I  simply  cursed  her,  I  cursed  her 
offspring,  and  burned  every  garment  I  had  made  or  bought 
for  the  wedding  in  my  parlor  stove.  I  sat  by  and 
watched  the  fire  as  it  hungrily  devoured  each  record  of 
my  foolish  day-dreams.  And  as  each  one  vanished  in 
cinder  and  smoke  I  cursed  her  from  the  very  bottom  of 
my  heart." 

The  woman  laughed  again,  and  Joan  could  not  repress 
a  shudder  at  the  sound. 

"  Twelve  months  she  had  of  him.  And  during  those 
twelve  months  both  he  and  she  nearly  drove  me  mad  in 


30  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

their  efforts  to  make  me  marry  your  father's  great  friend 
and  fellow  gambler.  His  name  doesn't  matter.  He  was 
a  brown-haired  creature,  who  was,  if  possible,  a  greater 
gambler  than  your  father.  But  unlike  your  father  his 
luck  was  phenomenal.  He  grew  rich  whilst  Charles  Stan- 
more,  with  every  passing  week,  grew  poorer.  And  for 
twelve  long  months  he  persecuted  me  with  his  attentions. 
He  never  left  me  alone.  I  sometimes  think  he  was  crazy 
in  his  desire  to  marry  me.  He  knew  the  whole  of  my 
wretched  story,  yet  it  made  no  difference.  He  swore  to 
me  in  his  mildly  deliberate  way  that  I  should  marry  him 
Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  read  the  real  character  of  the 
man  underlying  his  gentle  manner,  but,  poor  fool  that  I 
was,  I  didn't.  It  was  left  to  later  events  to  open  my  eyes, 
events  which  were  to  teach  me  that  under  the  guise  of 
friendship  he  hated  Charles  Stanmore,  because — because, 
in  spite  of  everything,  I  still  loved  him. 

"  At  the  end  of  those  twelve  months  my  cup  of  bitter- 
ness was  filled  to  overflowing.  You  were  born.  You, 
with  your  deep-blue  eyes  and  red-gold  hair.  You,  Charles 
Stanmore's  child — but  not  mine" 

Her  voice  died  out,  and  Joan  understood  something  of 
the  passion  in  this  strange  woman's  soul.  But  the  next 
moment  a  hard  laugh  jarred  her  nerves.  It  was  a  laugh 
that  had  no  mirth.  Only  was  it  an  audible  expression  de- 
signed to  disguise  real  feelings. 

"  Oh,  I  had  no  grudge  against  you.  You — you  with 
your  crumpled  face  and  big  blue  eyes.  You  could  make 
no  difference  to  my  life  as  I  saw  it.  And  yet  you  did." 
The  woman's  fingers  suddenly  clutched  the  crystal  in  her 
lap  with  a  force  that  left  the  thin  tips  of  them  white  and 
bloodless.  "  You  did.  A  difference  that  in  my  maddest 


THE  PARIAH  31 

dreams  I  could  never  have  hoped  for.  You  brought  with 
you  the  curse  of  disaster  from  which  there  was  no  escape 
ior  those  to  whom  you  belonged. 

"  I  can  see  it  all  now,"  she  went  on  exultingly.  "  I  can 
see  it  as  I  saw  it  then,  every  detail  of  it.  Your  father's 
gambling  had  brought  him  down  to  something  like  want. 
A  week  before  you  were  born  his  home  was  sold  up,  and 
he  and  your  mother  took  shelter  in  a  tiny  three-roomed 
apartment  for  which  they  had  no  money  to  pay  the  rent. 
In  desperation  he  came  to  me — to  me  for  help.  And  I 
gave  it  him.  The  day  before  you  were  born  I  gave  him 
the  money  for  the  expenses  of  your  birth  and  to  tide  him 
over  for  three  months.  It  was  almost  all  I  had  in  the 
worlde"  Again  came  that  mirthless  laugh.  Then  she 
hurried  on.  "  But  the  temptation  was  too  much  for 
Charles  Stanmore,  gambler  that  he  was.  He  suddenly 
found  himself  with  money  in  his  pocket  and  hope  in  his 
foolish  soul.  There  was  a  big  wheat  operation  going  on 
at  the  moment,  and  every  penny  of  the  money,  along  with 
all  the  credit  he  could  procure,  he  plunged  into  it" 

"  And  lost  it  all  ?  "  Joan  whispered. 

The  other  shook  her  head. 

"No.  The  influence  of  your  strange  fate  was  at  work. 
On  the  day  that  you  saw  light  Charles  Stanmore  was  a 
comparatively  rich  man.  And  your  mother — was  dead." 

Joan  breathed  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Yes,  wheat  went  up  by  leaps  and  bounds,  and  your 
father  was  delirious  with  joy.  He  stood  over  you — I  can 
see  him  now — and  talked  at  you  in  his  foolish,  extrava- 
gant way.  '  You're  the  brightest,  happiest,  luckiest  little 
hoodlam  that  ever  came  into  the  world/  he  cried.  '  And 
your  name  is  "  Golden,"  my  little  Golden  Woman,  for  if 


32  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

ever  there  was  a  golden  kiddie  in  the  world  you  are  she. 
Gold?  Why,  you've  showered  it  on  me.  Luck?  Why, 
I  verily  believe  if  you'd  been  around  you'd  have  brought 
luck  to  Jonah  when  he  got  mixed  up  with  the  whale's  in- 
ternals.1 And  then,  just  as  he  finished,  the  bolt  fell.  The 
doctor  came  in  from  the  next  room  and  took  him  aside, 
Your  mother  was  dead." 

A  sob  broke  from  the  listening  girl,  a  great  sob  of  sym- 
pathy for  the  kindly,  weak,  irresponsible  father  she  had 
never  known. 

"  Your  father's  disaster  looked  like  my  blessing.  I  had 
no  regrets  for  the  woman,"  Mercy  went  on.  "  He  was 
mine  now  by  every  right  The  thief  had  come  by  her 
reckoning.  So  I  seized  the  opportunity  that  was  thrust 
in  my  way.  Mine  was  the  right  to  care  for  him  and  help 
him  in  his  trouble,  nor  have  I  shame  in  saying  that  I 
took  it. 

"  But  the  curse  of  your  life  was  working  full  and  sure. 
But  for  your  existence  I  should  never  have  taken  that 
step.  But  for  that  step  other  matters  would  never  have 
occurred.  When  your  father's — friend  discovered  what  I 
had  done  his  fury  knew  no  bounds.  His  insults  were  un- 
forgettable— at  least  by  me.  But  I  persisted.  For  a  great 
hope  was  at  work  within  me  that  now  your  mother  was 
gone  eventually  Charles  Stanmore  might  come  back  to 
his  allegiance,  and  I  might  step  into  her  place.  It  was  & 
foolish  hope,  but — I  loved  your  father. 

"  Bah  1 "  she  went  on  impatiently.  "  It  is  no  use  raking 
amongst  those  ashes.  The  details  don't  matter  to  you. 
Those  things  are  dead.  And  only  is  their  effect  alive  to- 
day. My  hopes  were  never  to  be  fulfilled.  How  should 
they  be  with  the  curse  of  your  father's  golden  girl  in- 


THE  PARIAH  33 

volving  us  all  in  disaster.  Let  me  cut  the  wretched  his- 
tory as  short  as  I  can.  At  first  money  was  plentiful 
enough,  and  luck  in  that  direction  seemed  to  border  on 
the  marvelous.  To  give  you  an  instance  your  father — 
imbecile  that  he  was — swore  he  would  test  it  in  your  own 
interests.  He  hunted  round  till  he  found  the  most  hair- 
brained,  wildcat  company  ever  floated  for  the  purpose  of 
robbing  moneyed  fools,  and  invested  ten  thousand  dollars 
in  it  as  a  life-dowry  for  you.  It  was  the  joke  of  all  his 
gambling  friends.  It  was  like  pitching  dollar  bills  into  the 
Hudson.  And  then  in  a  month  the  miraculous  happened. 
After  a  struggle  the  company  boomed,  and  you  were 
left  with  a  competence  for  life.  Yes,  at  first  money  was 
plentiful  enough,  but  your  father  never  got  over  his  shock 
of  your  mother's  death.  Sometimes  I  used  to  think  his 
brain  was  weakening.  Anyway,  he  plunged  into  a  wild 
vortex  of  gambling.  He  drank  heavily,  and  indulged 
himself  in  excesses  from  which  he  had  always  kept  clear 
up  to  that  time.  He  took  to  cards  in  a  manner  that 
frightened  even  me,  used  as  I  was  to  his  weaknesses. 
And  in  all  these  things  his  friend  encouraged  and  in- 
dulged him. 

"The  end  was  not  far  off.  How  could  it  be?  Your 
father's  luck  waned  and  his  debauches  increased.  He  grew 
nervous  and  worried.  But  he  persisted  in  his  mode  of  life. 
Then,  in  a  little  while,  I  knew  that  he  was  borrowing.  He 
never  touched  your  money.  But  he  was  borrowing  heavily. 
This  man  whom  I  had  come  to  regard  as  his  evil  genius 
undoubtedly  lent  him  money — much  money.  Then  came 
a  particularly  bad  time.  For  two  days  Charles  Stanmore 
went  about  like  a  madman.  What  the  trouble  was  I 
never  knew — except  that  it  was  a  question  of  money.  And 


34  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

this  terminated  in  the  night  of  disaster  toward  which 
everything  had  been  driving." 

Mercy  Lascelles'  voice  dropped  to  a  low,  ominous  pitch, 
and  she  paused  as  though  to  draw  all  the  threads  of 
memory  into  one  firm  grasp.  Her  look,  too,  changed. 
But  it  was  a  change  quite  unnoticed  by  Joan. 

"  It  was  one  night  in  the  apartment.  I  had  gone  to  bed. 
They,  your  father  and  his — friend,  were  in  the  parlor. 
They  had  quarreled  during  the  evening  over  some  money 
affairs  which  I  did  not  understand.  Your  father  was  head- 
strong, as  he  always  was,  and  the  other,  well,  he  rarely 
raised  his  voice — he  was  one  of  those  quiet  men  who  dis- 
guise their  purposes  under  a  calm  atmosphere — as  a  rule. 
However,  on  this  occasion  high  words  had  passed,  and  I 
knew  that  stormy  feelings  were  underlying  the  calm  which 
finally  ensued.  At  last,  when  they  sat  down  to  a  heavy 
game  of  baccarat,  I  crept  away  to  bed. 

"  I  don't  know  how  long  I  had  been  in  bed  when  it  hap- 
pened. I  know  I  was  asleep,  for  I  wakened  suddenly  with 
a  great  sense  of  shock,  and  sat  up  trying  to  realize  what 
had  happened.  It  took  me  some  moments.  I  know  my 
mind  ran  over  a  dozen  things  before  I  decided  what  to  do. 
I  remembered  that  we  were  alone  in  the  place.  The 
servants  had  been  dismissed  more  than  a  week  before. 
There  wras  only  you,  and  your  father,  and  me  in  the  place. 
Then  I  remembered  that  his  friend  was  there,  and  I  had  left 
them  playing  cards.  Instantly  I  got  out  of  bed.  I  slipped 
on  a  dressing-gown  and  crept  out  into  the  passage.  I 
moved  silently  toward  the  door  of  the  sitting-room.  It 
was  wide  open.  I  had  left  it  shut.  The  gas  was  full  on. 
I  reached  the  door  and  cautiously  peered  in.  But  there 
was  no  need  for  caution.  Your  father  had  fallen  forward 


THE  PARIAH  35 

in  his  chair,  and  lay  with  his  head,  face  downward,  upon 
the  table.  He  was  dead  and — the  other  had  gone.  I  ran 
to  the  dead  man's  side  and  raised  him.  up.  It  was  too 
late.  All — all  I  had  or  cared  for  in  the  world  had  been 
taken  from  me  by  the  hand  of  the  murderer." 

"  Murdered?"  Joan  whispered  in  horrified  tones. 

"Yes,  murdered!"  came  the  swift,  vehement  retort. 
"  Shot — shot  through  the  heart,  and  in  the  stomach — and 
his  murderer  had  fled.  Oh,  God,  shall  I  ever  forget  that 
moment !" 

The  woman  fell  back  in  her  chair,  her  whole  withered 
body  shaking  with  emotion.  Then  with  an  effort  she 
pulled  herself  together  and  went  on  more  calmly  — 

"  I  hardly  know  what  I  did.  All  I  remember  is  that  I 
gave  the  alarm,  and  presently  had  the  police  there.  I  told 
them  all  I  could,  and  gave  the  name  and  description 
of — the  man  who  had  done  the  deed.  But  it  was  use- 
less. He  had  gone — bolted.  Nor  was  he  ever  seen  or 
heard  of  again.  The  curse  had  worked  out.  You,  your 
father's  golden  girl,  were  left  orphaned  to  the  care  of  the 
woman  to  whom  your  very  existence  was  an  ineradicable 
wrong,  and  who,  through  your  coming,  had  been  robbed 
of  all  that  made  life  possible." 

She  raised  her  crystal  and  held  it  poised  on  the  gathered 
finger-tips  of  one  hand.  And  when  she  spoke  again  her 
voice  had  gained  strength  and  tone. 

"  Since  those  days  I  have  learnt  to  read  the  words  that 
are  written  by  the  hand  of  Fate.  And  here — here  is  the 
open  book  It  is  all  here.  The  storm  of  disaster  that 
brought  you  into  the  world  will  dog  your  footsteps.  You 
are  cursed  with  the  luck  that  leads  to  disaster.  Wherever 
you  go  men  will  bless  your  name,  and,  almost  in  the  same 


36  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

breath,  their  blessings  shall  turn  to  the  direst  curses. 
It  is  not  I  who  am  speaking.  My  tongue  utters  the  words, 
but  the  writing  of  Fate  has  been  set  forth  for  me  to 
interpret.  Wherever  you  go,  wherever  you  be,  you  can- 
not escape  the  destiny  set  out  for  you.  I  tell  you  you 
are  a  leper,  a  pariah,  whom  all  men,  for  their  own  safe- 
guarding, must  shun." 

All  through  the  final  pronouncement  Joan  sat  transfixed 
with  horror.  A  leper !  A  pariah  !  Nor,  in  the  light  of 
those  things  which  to  her  own  knowledge  had  happened, 
could  she  doubt  the  hideous  denunciation.  She  had  heard 
and  understood  that  ill-luck  could  and  did  pursue  its 
victims.  But  this !  Oh,  it  was  too  terrible — too  cruel  1 
For  an  instant  she  thought  of  the  doctor  and  his  words  of 
warning.  But  one  glance  at  the  bowed  figure,  again 
intent  upon  her  crystal,  and  the  thought  passed.  The 
story  she  had  listened  to  was  too  real,  too  full  of  those 
things  which  had  driven  her  poor  aunt  to  her  present 
unyielding  attitude  toward  the  world  to  be  the  ravings 
of  an  insane  mind.  And  suddenly  panic  gripped  her, 
that  panic  which,  in  a  moment  of  weakness,  so  easily 
tends  toward  self-destruction, 

"  Is — is  there  no  hope,  auntie  ?  "  she  asked  helplessly. 

Mercy  Lascelles  looked  up  from  the  crystal.  She  eyed 
her  niece  steadily,  as  though  to  read  all  there  was  hidden 
behind  the  desperate  blue  eyes. 

Slowly  she  shook  her  head. 

Again  came  that  spasm  of  panic,  and  Joan  seemed  to 
hurl  her  whole  young  strength  into  denial. 

"  But  there  is.  There  must  be,"  she  cried,  with  a 
fierceness  that  held  the  other  in  something  like  aston- 
ishment "  There  must  be,"  she  reiterated  desperately. 


THE  PARIAH  37 

M  No  God  could  be  so  cruel — so — so  wicked.  What 
have  I  done  to  deserve  this  ?  The  injustice  is  demoniacal. 
Far  better  go  and  throw  myself  before  a  passing  train 
than  live  to  carry  such  a  pestilence  with  me  wherever  I  go 
through  life.  If  you  can  read  these  things — read  on. 
Read  on  and  tell  me,  for  I  swear  that  I  will  not  live  with 
this  curse  forever  tied  about  my  neck." 

"  You  will  live — you  must  live.  It  is  written  here." 
Mercy  pointed  at  the  crystal.  Then  she  laughed  her  cold, 
mirthless  laugh.  "  There  was  one  power  that  served  me, 
that  helped  me  to  save  my  reason  through  all  those  early 
days.  God  knows  how  it  may  help  you — for  I  can't  see. 
I  loved  your  father  with  a  passion  nothing,  no  disaster 
could  destroy.  I  loved  him  so  that  I  could  crush  every 
other  feeling  down,  subservient  to  my  passion.  Go  you, 
child,  and  find  such  a  love.  Go  you  and  find  a  love  so 
strong  that  no  disaster  can  kill  it.  And  maybe  life  may 
still  have  some  compensations  for  you,  maybe  it  will 
lift  the  curse  from  your  suffering  shoulders.  It — it  is  the 
only  thing  in  the  world  that  is  stronger  than  disaster.  It 
is  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that  is  stronger  than^ 
death." 

Joan  had  no  answer.  She  stared  straight  ahead  of  her, 
focusing  some  trifling  detail  of  the  pattern  on  the  wall 
paper.  Her  face  was  stony — stony  as  the  face  of  the 
woman  who  was  watching  her.  The  moments  passed 
rapidly.  A  minute  passed,  and  neither  spoke. 

Then  at  last  the  girl  abruptly  rose  from  her  seat. 
Almost  mechanically  she  moved  over  to  a  mirror,  and, 
removing  her  hat,  deftly  patted  her  beautiful  hair  till  it 
assumed  its  wonted  appearance.  And  quite  suddenly 
she  turned  about. 


38  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  I  have  nearly  fifty  thousand  dollars,  auntie.  I  am 
going  to  realize  that  capital  I  am  going  to  leave  this 
house — I  am  going  to  leave  it  forever.  I  shall  change 
my  name,  and  cover  up  my  tracks,  for  I  intend  going 
where  I  am  not  known.  I  am  going  where  men  can- 
not figure  in  my  life,  which  I  intend  to  begin  all  over 
again.  The  burden  Fate  has  imposed  upon  me  is  too 
great.  I  am  going  to  run  from  it." 

She  laughed.  And  her  laugh  was  as  mirthless  as  her 
aunt's  had  been. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TWO  MEN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

THE  westering  sun  was  drooping  heavily  toward  its 
fiery  couch.  The  purple  of  evening  was  deepening  from 
the  east,  meeting  and  blending  softly  with  the  gold  of  the 
dying  day.  A  great  furnace  of  ruddy  cloud  rose  above 
the  mountain- tops,  lighting  the  eternal  snows  of  the 
peaks  and  ancient  glaciers  with  a  wealth  of  kaleidoscopic 
color.  Viewed  from  the  plains  below  there  might  have 
been  a  great  fire  raging  among  the  hill-caps,  where  only 
snow  and  ice  could  provide  the  fuel. 

The  radiant  colors  of  sunset  held  the  quiet  eyes  of  a 
solitary  horseman  riding  amidst  the  broken  lands  of  the 
lesser  foot-hills.  He  was  a  big  man,  of  powerful  shoulders 
and  stout  limbs.  He  was  a  man  of  fifty  or  thereabouts, 
yet  his  hair  was  snow  white,  a  perfect  mane  that  reached 
low  upon  his  neck,  touching  the  soft  collar  of  his  cotton 
shirt.  His  face  was  calm  with  something  of  the  peace  of 
the  world  through  which  he  was  riding,  something  of  the 
peace  which  comes  to  those  who  have  abandoned  forever 
the  strife  of  the  busy  life  beyond.  It  only  needed  the 
garb  of  the  priest,  and  his  appearance  would  have  matched 
perfectly  his  sobriquet,  "  the  Padre." 

But  Moreton  Kenyon  was  clad  in  the  rough  moleskin, 
the  riding  boots  and  general  make-up  of  the  western  life 
to  which  he  belonged.  Even  he  carried  the  protecting 
firearms  by  which  to  administer  the  personal  laws  of  the 


4o  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

wilderness.  His  whole  appearance,  the  very  horse  under 
him,  a  prairie-bred  broncho  of  excellent  blood,  suggested 
a  man  who  knew  the  life  amidst  which  he  lived,  and  was 
more  than  capable  of  surviving  it. 

Whatever  his  appearance,  whatever  his  capacity  for  the 
rougher  corners  of  earth,  Moreton  Kenyon  was  a  man  of 
great  kindliness,  of  great  sympathy,  as  the  mission  from 
which  he  was  now  returning  might  well  have  testified. 
Those  who  knew  him  best  held  him  in  deep  affection. 
Those  who  knew  him  less  withheld  their  judgment,  but 
never  failed  to  treat  him  with  a  courtesy  not  usual  amongst 
the  derelicts  of  an  out-world  camp. 

Just  now  something  of  the  smallness  of  human  life,  of 
human  aims  and  efforts,  of  human  emotions,  was  occupy- 
ing the  busy  brain  behind  his  reflective  eyes.  The  scene 
before  him,  upon  which  he  had  so  often  looked,  never 
failed  to  remind  him  of  the  greatness  of  that  which  lay 
beyond  the  ken  of  man.  Somehow  it  exalted  his  thoughts 
to  planes  to  which  no  association  with  his  kind  could  ever 
have  exalted  them.  It  never  failed  to  inspire  him  with  a 
reverence  for  the  infinity  of  power  which  crowned  the 
glory  of  creation,  and  reduced  self  to  a  humble  realization 
of  its  atomic  place  in  the  great  scheme  of  the  Creator. 

His  horse  ambled  easily  over  the  ribbon-like  trail,  which 
seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  eastern  horizon  from  nowhere, 
and  lose  itself  somewhere  ahead,  amidst  the  dark  masses 
of  forest- crowned  hills.  The  journey  was  nearly  over. 
Somewhere  ahead  lay  the  stable,  which  could  be  reached 
at  leisure  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  and  neither  master 
nor  beast  seemed  to  feel  the  need  for  undue  haste. 

As  the  light  slowly  faded  out  and  left  the  snow-white 
hill-crests  drab  with  the  gray  of  twilight,  the  man's  mind 


TWO  MEN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS  41 

reverted  to  those  things  which  had  sent  him  on  his  journey 
Many  doubts  had  assailed  him  by  the  way,  doubts  which 
set  him  debating  with  himself,  but  which  rarely  made  him 
turn  from  a  purpose  his  mind  was  once  set  upon.  He 
knew  that  his  action  involved  more  than  his  own  personal 
welfare,  and  herein  had  lain  the  source  of  his  doubt.  But 
he  had  clearly  argued  every  point  with  himself,  and 
through  it  all  had  felt  the  Tightness  of  his  purpose. 

Then,  too,  he  had  had  the  support  of  that  other  with  whom 
he  was  concerned.  And  he  smiled  as  he  thought  of  the 
night  when  his  decision  had  been  taken.  Even  now  the 
picture  remained  in  his  mind  of  the  eager  face  of  his 
youthful  protege  as  they  discussed  the  matter.  The 
younger  man  had  urged  vehemently,  protesting  at  every 
objection,  that  they  two  had  no  right  to  live  in  compara- 
tive comfort  with  women  and  children  starving  about 
them. 

He  remembered  young  Buck's  eager  eyes,  large  dark- 
brown  eyes  that  could  light  with  sudden,  almost  volcanic 
heat,  or  smile  their  soft,  lazy  smile  of  amusement  at  the 
quaintnesses  of  life  about  him.  The  Padre  understood  the 
largeness  of  heart,  the  courage  which  urged  him,  the  sin- 
gleness of  purpose  which  was  always  his.  Then,  when 
their  decision  had  been  taken,  he  remembered  the  abrupt 
falling  back  of  the  man  into  the  quiet,  almost  monosyl- 
labic manner  which  usually  belonged  to  him. 

Yes,  Buck  was  a  good  lad. 

The  thought  carried  him  back  to  days  long  gone  by, 
to  a  time  when  a  lad  of  something  less  than  eight  years, 
clad  in  the  stained  and  worn  garb  of  a  prairie  juvenile,  his 
feet  torn  and  bleeding,  his  large  brown  eyes  staring  out  of 
gaunt,  hungry  sockets,  his  thin,  pinched,  sunburnt  face 


42  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

drawn  by  the  ravages  of  starvation,  had  cheerfully  hailed 
liim  from  beneath  the  shelter  of  a  trail-side  bush. 

That  was  nearly  twenty  years  ago,  but  every  detail  of 
the  meeting  was  still  fresh  in  his  memory.  His  horse  had 
shied  at  the  sudden  challenge.  He  remembered  he  had 
thrashed  the  creature  with  his  spurs.  And  promptly  had 
come  the  youthful  protest. 

"  Say,  you  needn't  to  lick  him,  mister/'  the  boy  piped 
in  his  thin  treble.  "  Guess  he'll  stand  if  you  talk  to  him." 

Strangely  enough  the  man  had  almost  unconsciously 
obeyed  the  mandate.  And  the  memory  of  it  made  him 
smile  now.  Then  had  followed  a  dialogue,  which  even 
now  had  power  to  stir  every  sympathy  of  his  heart.  He 
started  by  casually  questioning  the  starving  apparition. 

"  Where  you  from,  sonny  ?  "  he  asked. 

And  with  that  unequivocal  directness,  which,  after 
twenty  years,  still  remained  with  him,  the  boy  flung  out 
a  thin  arm  in  the  direction  of  the  eastern  horizon. 

"Back  ther',  mister." 

The  natural  sequence  was  to  ask  him  whither  he 
was  bound,  and  his  answer  came  with  a  similar  gesture 
with  his  other  hand  westward. 

"  Yonder." 

"  But — but  who're  your  folks  ?  Where  are  they  ?  "  the 
Padre  had  next  hazarded.  And  a  world  of  desolation  was 
contained  in  the  lad's  half-tearful  reply  — 

"  Guess  I  ain't  got  none.  Pop  an'  ma's  dead.  Our 
farm  was  burnt  right  out.  Y'  see  there  was  a  prairie  fire. 
It  was  at  night,  an'  we  was  abed.  Pop  got  me  out,  an' 
went  back  for  ma.  I  never  see  him  agin.  1  never  see 
ma.  An'  ther*  wa'an't  no  farm  left.  Guess  they're  sure 
dead." 


TWO  MEN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS  43 

He  fought  the  tears  back  manfully,  in  a  way  that  set 
the  Padre  marveling  at  his  courage. 

After  a  moment  he  continued  his  interrogation. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Buck,"  came  the  frank  response. 

"  Buck — what  ?  " 

"  Buck — jest  plain,  mister." 

"  But  your  father's  name — what  was  that  ?  " 

"  Pop." 

"  Yes,  yes.  That's  what  you  called  him.  What  did  the 
folks  call  him?" 

"  Ther'  wa'an't  no  folks.     Jest  pop,  an'  ma,  an1  me." 

A  great  lump  had  risen  in  the  man's  throat  as  he  looked 
down  into  those  honest,  hungry  eyes.  And  for  a  moment 
he  was  at  a  loss.  But  the  boy  solved  his  dilemma  in  a 
way  that  proved  the  man  in  after-life. 

"  Say,  you  ain't  a  farmer  ?  "  he  inquired,  with  a  specu- 
lative glance  over  his  general  outfit. 

"  Well,  I  am — in  a  small  way,"  the  Padre  had  replied, 
with  a  half-smile. 

The  boy  brightened  at  once. 

"  Then  mebbe  you  can  give  me  a  job — I'm  lookin'  for 
a  job." 

The  wonder  of  it  all  brought  a  great  smile  of  sympa 
thy  to  the  man's  eyes  now,  as  he  thought  of  that  little 
starving  lad  of  eight  years  old,  homeless,  wandering 
amidst  the  vastness  of  all  that  world — looking  for  & 
"  job."  It  was  stupendous,  and  he  had  sat  marvel- 
ing until  the  lad  brought  him  back  to  the  business  in 
hand. 

"  Y'  see  I  kin  milk — an' — an'  do  chores  around.  Guess 
I  can't  plough  yet.  Pop  allus  said  I  was  too  little.  But 


44  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

mebbe  I  kin  grow — later.  I — I  don't  want  no  wages— 
on'y  food.  Guess  I'm  kind  o'  hungry,  mister." 

Nor,  for  a  moment,  could  the  man  make  any  reply. 
The  pathos  of  it  all  held  him  in  its  grip.  He  leant  over 
and  groped  in  his  saddle-bag  for  the  "hardtack"  biscuits 
he  always  carried,  and  passed  the  lad  a  handful. 

He  remembered  how  the  boy  snatched  the  rough  food 
from  his  hands.  There  was  something  almost  animal  in 
the  way  he  crammed  his  mouth  full,  and  nearly  choked 
himself  in  his  efforts  to  appease  the  craving  of  his  small, 
empty  stomach.  In  those  moments  the  man's  mind  was 
made  up.  He  watched  in  silence  while  the  biscuit  van- 
ished. Then  he  carried  out  his  purpose. 

"You  can  have  a  job,"  he  said.  "I've  only  a  small 
farm,  but  you  can  come  and  help  me  with  it." 

"Do  you  mean  that,  mister?"  the  boy  asked,  almost 
incredulously. 

Then,  as  the  Padre  had  nodded,  a  sigh  of  thankfulness 
escaped  the  young  lips,  which  were  still  covered  with  the 
crumbs  of  his  recent  meal 

"  Say,  I'm  glad.  Y'  see  I  was  gettin'  tired.  An5  ther' 
didn't  seem  to  be  no  farms  around — nor  nuthin'.  An' 
it's  lonesome,  too,  at  nights,  lym*  around." 

The  man's  heart  ached.     He  could  stand  no  more  of  it. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  sleeping — out  ?  " 

"  Three  nights,  mister." 

Suddenly  the  Padre  reached  out  a  hand. 

"  Here,  catch  hold,  and  jump." 

The  boy  caught  the  strong  hand,  and  was  promptly 
swung  up  into  the  saddle  behind  his  benefactor.  The 
next  moment  they  were  speeding  back  over  the  trail  to 
the  lad's  new  home.  Nor  was  the  new-born  hope  solely 


TWO  MEN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS  45 

oeating  in  the  starving  child's  heart.  The  lonely  farmer 
felt  that  somehow  the  day  was  brighter,  and  the  green 
earth  more  beautiful — for  that  meeting. 

Such  had  been  the  coming  together  of  these  two,  and 
through  all  the  long  years  of  weary  toil  since  then  they 
still  remained  together,  working  shoulder  to  shoulder  in  a 
relationship  that  soon  became  something  like  that  of  father 
and  son.  The  Padre  remained  the  farmer — in  a  small 
way.  But  the  boy — well,  as  had  been  prophesied  by  his 
dead  father,  later  on  he  grew  big  enough  to  plough  the 
furrows  of  life  with  a  strong  and  sure  hand. 

The  man's  reflections  were  broken  into  abruptly.  The 
time  and  distance  had  passed  more  rapidly  than  he  was 
aware  of.  The  eager  animal  under  him  raised  its  head, 
and,  pricking  its  small  ears  and  pulling  heavily  on  the 
reins,  increased  its  pace  to  a  gallop.  Then  it  was  that  the 
Padre  became  suddenly  aware  that  the  home  stretch  had 
been  reached,  and  before  him  lay  a  long,  straight  decline 
in  the  trail  which  split  a  dense  pine-wood  bluff  of  consid- 
erable extent. 

A  man  was  lounging  astride  of  a  fallen  pine  log.  His 
lean  shoulders  were  propped  against  the  parent  stump. 
All  about  him  were  other  stumps  left  by  those  who  had 
made  the  clearing  in  the  woods.  Beyond  this  the  shadowy 
deep  of  the  woods  ranged  on  every  side,  except  where  the 
red  sand  of  a  trail  broke  the  monotony  of  tone. 

Near  by  two  horses  stood  tethered  together  by  a  leading 
rein.  One  was  a  saddle-horse,  and  the  other  was  equipped 
with  a  well-loaded  pack-saddle.  It  was  no  mean  burden 
of  provisions.  The  carcass  of  a  large,  black-tailed  deer 
sprawled  across  the  back  of  the  saddle,  while  on  one  side 


46  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

were  secured  three  bags  of  flour,  and  on  the  other  several 
jack-rabbits  were  strung  together.  But  the  powerful  beast 
remained  unconcernedly  nibbling  at  the  sparse  green 
peeping  here  and  there  through  the  carpet  of  rotting  pine 
cones  and  needles  which  covered  the  ground. 

The  man's  eyes  were  half-closed,  yet  he  was  by  no  means 
drowsing.  On  the  contrary,  his  mind  was  essentially  busy, 
and  the  occasional  puckering  of  his  dark  brows,  and  the 
tightening  of  his  strong  jaws,  suggested  that  his  thoughts 
were  not  always  pleasant 

After  a  while  he  sat  up.  But  his  movement  was  only 
the  restlessness  caused  by  the  worry  of  his  thought.  And 
the  gaze  he  turned  upon  his  foraging  horses  was  quite 
preoccupied. 

A  change,  however,  was  not  long  in  coming.  Simul- 
taneously both  horses  threw  up  their  heads,  arid  one  of 
them  gave  a  sharp,  comprehensive  snort.  Instantly  the 
man's  large  brown  eyes  lit,  and  a  pleasant  expectancy 
shone  in  their  depths.  He  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant, 
and  his  tall  figure  became  alert  and  vibrant  with  the  lithe 
activity  which  was  so  wonderfully  displayed  in  his  whole 
poise.  He,  too,  had  become  aware  of  a  disturbing  ele- 
ment in  the  silent  depths  of  the  woods. 

He  moved  across  to  the  trail,  and,  glancing  down  it, 
from  out  of  the  silence  reached  him  the  distant,  soft  plod 
of  hoofs  in  its  heavy  covering  of  sand.  His  look  of  sat 
isfaction  deepened  as  he  turned  back  to  his  horses  and 
tightened  the  cinchas  of  the  saddles,  and  replaced  the 
bits  in  their  mouths.  Then  he  picked  up  the  Winchester 
rifle  propped  against  a  tree  stump  and  turned  again  to  the 
trail. 

A   moment    later  another    horseman    appeared    from 


TWO  MEN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS  47 

beyond  the  fringe  of  pines  and  drew  up  with  an  ex- 
clamation. 

"  Why,  Buck,  I  didn't  reckon  to  find  you  around  here  I'1 
he  cried  cordially. 

"  No."  The  young  man  smiled  quietly  up  into  the 
horseman's  face.  The  welcome  of  his  look  was  unmis- 
takable. No  words  of  his  could  have  expressed  it  better. 

The  Padre  sprang  from  his  saddle  with  the  lightness  of 
a  man  of  half  his  years,  and  his  eyes  rested  on  the  pack- 
saddle  on  Buck's  second  horse. 

"  For  the—folks  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Guess  so.     That's  the  last  of  the  flour." 

For  a  moment  a  shadow  passed  across  the  Padre's  face. 
Then  it  as  suddenly  brightened. 

"How's  things?"  he  demanded,  in  the  stereotyped 
fashion  of  men  who  greet  when  matters  of  importance 
must  be  discussed  between  them. 

"  So,"  responded  Buck. 

The  Padre  glanced  quickly  round,  and  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  log  which  had  provided  the  other  with  a  seat. 

"  Guess  there's  no  hurry.  Let's  sit,"  he  said,  indicating 
the  log.  "  I'm  a  bit  saddle  weary." 

Buck  nodded. 

They  left  the  horses  to  their  own  devices,  and  moved 
across  to  the  log. 

"Quite  a  piece  to  Leeson  Butte,"  observed  Buck  casu- 
ally, as  he  dropped  upon  the  log  beside  his  friend. 

"  It  surely  is,"  replied  the  Padre,  taking  the  young  man 
in  with  a  quick,  sidelong  glance. 

Buck  was  good  to  look  at,  so  strong,  so  calmly  reliant. 
Every  glance  of  his  big  brown  eyes  suggested  latent 
power,  He  was  not  strikingly  handsome,  but  the  pro- 


48  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

nounced  nose,  the  level,  wide  brows,  the  firm  mouth  and 
clean-shaven  chin,  lifted  him  far  out  of  the  common.  He 
was  clad  simply.  But  his  dress  was  perfectly  suitable  to 
the  life  of  the  farmer-hunter  which  was  his.  His  white 
moleskin  trousers  were  tucked  into  the  tops  of  his  Well- 
ington boots,  and  a  cartridge  belt,  from  which  hung  a 
revolver  and  holster,  was  slung  about  his  waist.  His 
upper  covering  was  a  simple,  gray  flannel  shirt,  gaping 
wide  open  across  his  sunburnt  chest,  and  his  modest-hued 
silk  handkerchief  tied  loosely  about  his  neck. 

"  Leeson  Butte's  getting  quite  a  city,"  Buck  went  on 
presently. 

"  That's  so,"  replied  the  Padre,  still  bent  upon  his  own 
thoughts. 

After  that  it  was  quite  a  minute  before  either  spoke. 
Yet  there  seemed  to  be  no  awkwardness. 

Finally  it  was  the  Padre  who  broached  the  matters  that 
lay  between  them. 

"  I  got  ten  thousand  dollars  for  it  I "  he  said. 

"  The  farm  ?  "  Buck's  interrogation  was  purely  mechan- 
ical. He  knew  well  enough  that  the  other  had  purposely 
gone  to  Leeson  Butte  to  sell  the  farm  on  which  they  had 
both  lived  so  long. 

The  Padre  nodded 

"  A  fancy  price,"  he  said.  "  The  lawyers  closed  quick. 
It  was  a  woman  bought  it.  I  didn't  see  her,  though  she 
was  stopping  at  the  hotel.  I  figured  on  getting  seven 
thousand  five  hundred  dollars,  and  only  asked  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  as  a  start.  Guess  the  woman  must  have 
wanted  it  bad.  Maybe  she's  heard  they're  prospecting 
gold  around.  Well,  anyway  she  ought  to  get  some  luck 
with  it,  she's  made  it  easy  for  us  to  help  the  folks." 


TWO  MEN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS  49 

Buck's  eyes  were  steadily  fixed  on  the  horses. 

"  It  makes  me  feel  bad  seeing  those  fellers  chasm'  gold, 
and  never  a  color  to  show — an'  all  the  while  their  women- 
folk an'  kiddies  that  thin  for  food  you  can  most  see  their 
shadows  through  'em." 

The  eyes  of  the  elder  man  brightened.  The  other's 
words  had  helped  to  hearten  him.  He  had  felt  keenly 
the  parting  with  his  farm  after  all  those  years  of  labor 
and  association.  Yet,  to  a  mind  such  as  his,  it  had  been 
impossible  to  do  otherwise.  How  could  he  stand  by 
watching  a  small  community,  such  as  he  was  surrounded 
with,  however  misguided  in  their  search  for  gold,  painfully 
and  doggedly  starving  before  his  very  eyes  ?  For  the 
men  perhaps  his  sympathy  might  have  been  less  keen, 
but  the  poor,  long-suffering  women  and  the  helpless 
children — the  thought  was  too  painful.  No,  he  and  Buck 
had  but  their  two  selves  to  think  of.  They  had  powerful 
hands  with  which  to  help  themselves.  Those  others  were 
helpless — the  women  and  children. 

There  was  compensation  in  his  sacrifice  when  he  remem- 
bered the  large  orders  for  edible  stores  he  had  placed  with 
the  merchants  of  Leeson  Butte  before  leaving  that  town. 

"  There's  a  heap  of  food  coming  along  for  them  pres- 
ently," he  said  after  a  pause. 

Buck  nodded. 

"  I've  been  settin'  that  old  fur  fort  to  rights,  way  up  in 
the  hills  back  ther',"  he  said,  pointing  vaguely  behind 
them.  "  Guess  we'd  best  move  up  ther'  now  the  farm's 
— sold.  We'll  need  a  few  bits  of  furniture  from  the  farm. 
That  right — now  you've  sold  it?" 

"  Yes.  I  made  that  arrangement.  She  didn't  seem  to 
mind  anything  I  suggested.  She  must  be  a  bully  sort  of 


50  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

woman.  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  see  her.  The  lawyer  says 
she  comes  from  St  Ellis." 

"Young?"  suggested  Buck. 

The  Padre  shook  his  head. 

"  I  wouldn't  say  so.  A  young  woman  with  money 
wouldn't  be  likely  to  hide  herself  in  these  hills." 

"  That's  so.  Guess  it's  the  gold  fetching  her — the  gold 
that  isn't  here." 

"  Gold's  a  cursed  thing,"  said  the  Padre  reflectively. 

"  Yet  none  of  'em  seem  to  shy  at  the  curse."  Buck 
smiled  in  his  slow  way. 

"  No.  Not  without  experiencing  it."  The  Padre's  eyes 
were  still  serious.  Then  he  went  on,  "  We  shan't  farm 
any  up  there — at  the  fur  fort  ?  " 

Buck  shook  his  head. 

"  It  means  clearing  every  inch  of  land  we  need.  Guess 
we  best  hunt,  as  we  said.  We'll  make  out  with  pelts. 
There's  the  whole  mountains  for  traps." 

The  other  stared  over  at  the  horses,  and  his  face  was 
very  grave.  After  a  while  he  turned  directly  to  his  com- 
panion, and  his  eyes  were  mildly  anxious. 

"  See  here,  Buck,"  he  said,  with  what  seemed  unneces- 
sary emphasis.  "  I've  thought  a  heap  on  the  way  back — 
home.  It  seems  to  me  I'm  not  acting  square  by  you. 
And  I've  made  up  my  mind."  He  paused.  Buck  did 
not  change  his  position,  and  his  eyes  were  carefully 
avoiding  those  of  his  companion.  Then  the  Padre  went 
on  with  a  decision  that  somehow  lacked  confidence. 
"  You  must  take  half  the  money,  and — and  get  busy  your 
own  way.  We've  done  farming,  so  there's  no  reason  for 
you  to  hang  around  here.  You're  a  man  now,  arid  you've 
your  way  to  make  in  the  world.  You  see,  when  we  had 


TWO  MEN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS  51 

the  farm  I  thought  it  was  good  for  you.  It  would  be 
vours  when  I  died,  and  then  who  knows,  in  time,  how 
valuable  it  might  become  ?  Now  it's  all  different.  You 
see  the  hills  are  best  for  me."  He  smiled  strainedly. 
"  They've  always  been  good  friends  to  me.  But " 

"  Yes,  you  don't  fancy  leavin'  the  hills."  Buck's  eyes 
wore  a  curious  expression.  They  were  half-smiling,  half- 
angry.  But  the  other  could  not  see  them.  The  Padre 
jumped  eagerly  at  his  words. 

"Just  so.  I've  known  them  so  long  now  that  there 
doesn't  seem  to  be  any  other  world  for  me.  Even  Leeson 
Butte  makes  me  feel — er — strange." 

Buck  nodded.     Then  he  changed  the  subject. 

"  Say,  we  don't  sleep  at  the  farm  to-night,"  he  said. 
"  The  blankets  are  up  at  the  old  fort  That's  why  I  got 
around  here.  When's  she  comin'  along  ?  " 

"  In  two  or  three  days."  The  Padre  had  no  choice  but 
to  follow  the  younger  man's  lead.  "  She's  sending  along 
a  farm  woman  first.  She's  going  to  run  the  place  herself." 

"  Ther's  no  man  comin'  ?  "  Buck  half  turned  to  his 
friend. 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

"  They  can't  do  it — hereabouts,"  Buck  retorted  quickly. 
"  That  farm  needs  a  man." 

"  Yes." 

Buck  rose  abruptly  and  went  over  to  the  horses. 

"Going?"  inquired  the  Padre. 

"  I'll  get  along  with  the  vittles,  and  hand  'em  over  to 
the  boys.  Guess  I'll  git  back  to  the  fort  in  a  few  hours." 

The  Padre  sat  hesitating.  He  watched  the  movements 
of  his  companion  without  observing  them. 

"  Buck !  " 


52  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

The  other  paused  as  he  was  about  to  put  his  foot 
into  the  stirrup.  He  glanced  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  About  that  money.    There's  five  thousand  of  it  yours." 

"  Not  on  your  life,  Padre  !  " 

The  elder  man  sighed  as  he  stood  up,  and  his  look 
changed  so  that  it  almost  seemed  as  if  a  weight  had 
been  lifted  from  his  mind.  Their  eyes  met  as  Buck 
swung  himself  into  the  saddle. 

"  Then  we're  going  to  the  hills — together  ?  "  he  said 
smilingly. 

"  Sure,"  responded  Buck  promptly.  Then  he  added, 
"  But  we're  goin'  to  hunt — not  farm." 

His  decisive  manner  left  no  room  for  doubt,  and  the 
Padre,  moving  over  to  him,  held  out  his  hand.  They 
gripped  till  the  elder  man  winced. 

"  I'm  glad  I  found  you  on  the  trail  that  time,"  he 
said,  looking  squarely  into  the  steady  brown  eyes.  "  I've 
always  been  glad,  but — I'm  gladder  still  now." 

"  Me,  too,"  said  Buck,  with  a  light  laugh.  "  Guess 
I'd  have  hated  to  ha'  fed  the  coyotes." 

Buck  swung  round  to  the  trail,  leading  his  packhorse, 
and  the  Padre  went  back  to  his  horse.  Just  as  he  was 
about  to  mount  the  younger  man's  voice  reached  him 
again.  He  paused. 

"  Say,  what's  the  woman's  name  ?  "  Buck  inquired. 

"Eli?"  The  Padre  looked  startled.  "The  woman 
that  bought  the  farm  ?  " 

«  Yes— sure." 

The  elder  man's  face  flushed  painfully.  It  was  a  cu- 
rious sight.  He  looked  as  stupidly  guilty  as  any  school- 
boy. 


TWO  MEN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS  53 

"I — I  can't  say.  I  never  asked."  He  felt  absurdly 
foolish  and  tried  to  explain.  "  You  see,  I  only  dealt  with 
the  lawyer/' 

Buck  shook  his  head,  and  smiled  in  his  slow  fashion. 

"  Spld  the  farm,  an'  don't  know  who  to  !     Gee  !  " 

It  was  good  to  hear  his  laugh  as  he  rode  away.  The 
Padre  watched  him  till  he  was  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE 

BUCK  leant  over  his  horse's  withers  as  the  laboring 
creature  clawed  tenaciously  up  the  face  of  the  rugged  hill. 
His  whole  poise  was  that  of  sympathetic  straining.  Nor 
were  his  eyes  a  whit  less  eager  than  those  of  the  faithful 
animal  under  him. 

He  was  making  the  last  twenty  yards  of  the  climb  up 
Devil's  Hill  from  the  side  on  which  lay  the  new  home 
adopted  by  the  Padre  and  himself.  Hitherto  this  point  of 
approach  had  been  accepted  as  inaccessible  for  a  horse- 
man, nor,  until  now,  had  Buck  seen  reason  to  dispute  the 
verdict.  But,  to-day,  a  sudden  impulse  had  constrained 
him  to  make  the  attempt,  not  from  any  vainglorious 
reason,  or  from  the  recklessness  which  was  so  much  a  part 
of  his  nature,  but  simply  that  somewhere  high  up  on  the 
great  table-land  at  the  summit  of  the  hill  he  hoped  to  find 
an  answer  to  a  riddle  that  was  sorely  puzzling  him. 

It  had  been  a  great  struggle  even  on  the  lower  and 
more  gradual  slopes,  for  the  basaltic  rocks  were  barren, 
and  broken,  and  slippery.  There  was  no  gripping  soil, 
or  natural  foothold.  Just  the  weather-worn  rocks  which 
offered  no  grip  to  Caesar's  metal-shod  hoofs.  Yet  the 
generous-hearted  beast  had  floundered  on  up  to  the  last 
stretch,  where  the  hill  rose  abruptly  at  a  perilous  angle. 

It  was  a  terrible  scramble.  As  he  looked  above,  at  the 
point  where  the  sky-line  was  cut  by  the  broken  rocks,  even 


THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE  55 

the  reckless  heart  of  the  man  quailed.  Yet  there  was  no 
turning  back.  To  do  so  meant  certain  disaster.  No 
horse,  however  sure-footed,  could  ever  hope  to  make  the 
descent  by  the  way  they  had  come.  Buck  had  looked 
back  just  for  one  brief  second,  but  his  eyes  had  instantly 
turned  again  for  relief  to  the  heights  above.  Disaster  lay 
behind  him.  To  go  on — well,  if  he  failed  to  reach  the 
brow  of  the  blackened  hill  it  would  mean  disaster  any- 
way. And  a  smile  of  utter  recklessness  slowly  lit  his 
face. 

So,  with  set  jaws  and  straining  body,  he  urged  Caesar 
to  a  last  supreme  effort,  and  the  great  black  creature  re- 
sponded gallantly.  With  head  low  to  the  ground,  his 
muscles  standing  out  like  ropes  upon  his  shoulders,  his 
forelegs  bent  like  grappling-hooks,  his  quarters  tucked 
beneath  him,  he  put  his  giant  heart  into  the  work.  Step 
by  step,  inch  by  inch  he  gained,  yawing  and  sliding, 
stumbling  and  floundering,  making  way  where  all  way 
seemed  impossible.  Slowly  they  crept  up,  slowly,  slowly 
they  neared  that  coveted  line.  Buck  was  breathing  hard. 
Caesar  was  blowing  and  had  thrown  his  mouth  agape,  a 
sign  that  beyond  this  he  could  make  no  further  effort. 
Five  yards — two  yards.  The  jagged  line  seemed  to  come 
down  to  meet  them.  At  last,  with  a  final  spring,  the 
great  horse  trampled  it  under  foot. 

Buck  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Gee  !  "  he  murmured.  Then  with  the  wide,  black 
plain  stretching  before  him,  its  limits  lost  in  a  strange 
mist,  he  flung  out  of  the  saddle. 

He  stared  about  him  curiously.  Devil's  Hill  was  in  no 
way  new  to  him.  Many  a  time  he  had  visited  its  mys- 
terious regions,  but  always  had  he  approached  it  from 


56  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

the  prospecting  camp,  or  his  own  farm,  both  of  which  lay 
away  on  the  northern  side  of  it. 

A  wide  plateau,  nearly  two  miles  in  extent,  stretched 
out  before  him.  It  was  as  flat  as  the  proverbial  board, 
with  just  one  isolated  rock  towering  upon  its  bosom. 
This  was  the  chief  object  of  interest  now.  Away  in  the 
distance  he  beheld  its  ghostly  outline,  almost  lost  in  the 
ruddy  atmosphere  which,  just  now,  seemed  to  envelop 
the  whole  of  that  Western  world. 

It  was  a  desolate  scene.  So  desolate  as  to  carry  a 
strange  sense  of  depression  to  the  heart  of  the  horseman. 
There  was  not  a  tree  in  sight — nor  a  single  blade  of  grass. 
There  was  nothing  but  the  funereal  black  of  basaltic  rock, 
of  which  the  hill  seemed  to  be  one  solid  mass.  Such  was 
its  desolation  that  even  the  horse  seemed  to  be  drooping 
at  the  sight  of  it.  It  was  always  the  same  with  Buck. 
There  was  an  influence  about  the  place  which  always  left 
him  feeling  rather  hopeless.  He  knew  the  old  Indian 
stories  of  superstition.  He  knew  the  awe  in  which  the 
more  ignorant  among  the  white  folk  held  this  hill.  But 
these  things  left  him  unaffected.  He  only  regarded  it 
from  his  own  personal  observations,  which  were  not  very 
enlivening. 

Apart  from  the  fact  that  not  one  atom  of  vegetation 
would  grow  either  upon  the  surface  or  slopes  of  Devil's 
Hill,  no  snows  in  winter  had  ever  been  known  to  settle 
upon  its  uninviting  bosom.  Long  before  the  snow 
touched  its  surface,  however  low  the  temperature  of  the 
atmosphere,  however  severe  a  blizzard  might  be  raging 
— and  the  Montana  blizzards  are  notorious  for  their 
severity — the  snow  was  turned  to  water,  and  a  deluge 
of  rain  hissed  upon  its  surface. 


THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE  57 

Then,  too,  there  was  that  mystery  rock  in  the  distance 
of  the  great  plateau.  It  was  one  of  Nature's  little  enigmas 
with  which  she  loves  to  puzzle  the  mind  of  man.  How 
came  it  there,  shot  up  in  the  midst  of  that  wide,  flat 
stretch  of  rock  ?  It  stood  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of 
the  eastern  brink  of  the  hill  which,  in  its  turn,  was  another 
mystery.  The  eastern  extremity  was  not  a  mere  preci- 
pice, it  was  a  vast  overhang  which  left  Yellow  Creek, 
upon  whose  banks  the  mining  camps  were  pitched,  flow- 
ing beneath  the  roof  of  a  giant  tunnel  supported  by  a 
single  side. 

The  rock  on  the  plateau  reared  its  misshapen  head  to 
the  heavens  at  a  height  of  something  over  two  hundred 
feet,  and  its  great  base  formed  a  vast  cavern  out  of  which, 
fanwise,  spread  a  lake  of  steaming  water,  which  flowed 
on  to  the  very  brink  of  the  hill  where  it  overshadowed  the 
creek  below.  Thus  it  was,  more  than  half  the  lake  was 
held  suspended  in  mid-air,  with  no  other  support  than  the 
parent  hill  from  which  its  bed  projected.  It  was  an  awe- 
some freak  of  nature,  calculated  to  astonish  even  eyes 
that  were  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  it. 

But  Buck  was  not  thinking  of  these  things  now.  He 
was  looking  at  the  view.  He  was  looking  at  the  sky. 
He  was  looking  from  this  great  height  for  an  explanation 
of  the  curious,  ruddy  light  in  the  sunless  sky,  the  teeming 
haze  which  weighted  down  the  brain,  and,  with  the 
slightest  movement,  opened  the  pores  of  the  skin  and  set 
the  perspiration  streaming. 

In  all  his  years  of  the  Montana  hills  he  had  never  ex- 
perienced such  a  curious  atmospheric  condition.  Less 
than  an  hour  ago  he  had  left  the  Padre  at  the  fur  fort 
under  a  blazing  summer  sky,  with  the  crisp  mountain  air 


58  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

whipping  in  his  nostrils.  Then,  quite  of  a  sudden,  had 
come  this  change.  There  were  no  storm-clouds,  and  yet 
storm  was  in  every  breath  of  the  superheated  air  he  took. 
There  was  no  wind,  nor  anything  definite  to  alarm  ex- 
cept this  sudden  blind  heat  and  the  purple  hue  which 
seemed  to  have  spread  itself  over  the  whole  world.  Thus 
it  was,  as  he  neared  the  mysterious  mountain,  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  its  ascent  in  the  hope  of  finding, 
there  upon  the  unwholesome  plateau,  the  key  to  the  at- 
mospheric mystery. 

But  none  seemed  to  be  forthcoming,  so,  turning  at  last 
to  the  patient  Caesar,  he  once  more  returned  to  the  saddle 
and  rode  on  to  the  barren  shores  of  Devil's  Lake. 

The  lake  was  a  desolate  spot.  The  waters  stretched 
out  before  him,  still,  and  silent,  and  black.  There  was 
not  even  a  ripple  upon  its  steaming  surface.  Here  the 
haze  hung  as  it  always  hung,  and  the  cavern  was  belch- 
ing forth  deep  mists,  like  the  breathing  of  some  prehis- 
toric monster.  He  glanced  up  at  the  birdless  rock  above, 
and  into  the  broken  outlines  of  it  he  read  the  distorted 
features  of  some  baleful,  living  creature,  or  some  savage 
idol.  But  there  was  no  answer  here  to  the  questions  of 
his  mind,  any  more  than  there  had  been  on  the  rest  of 
the  plateau,  so  he  rode  on  along  the  edge  of  the  water. 

He  reached  the  extreme  end  of  the  lake  and  paused 
again.  He  could  go  no  farther,  for  nothing  but  a  rocky 
parapet,  less  than  twenty  feet  wide,  barred  the  waters 
from  tumbling  headlong  to  the  depths  below. 

After  a  moment  Caesar  grew  restless,  his  equine  nerves 
seemed  to  be  on  a  jangle,  and  the  steadying  hand  of  his 
master  had  no  effect.  His  eyes  were  wistful  and  dilated, 
and  he  glanced  distrustfully  from  side  to  side,  snorting 


THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE  59 

loudly  his  evident  alarm.  Buck  moved  him  away  from 
his  proximity  to  the  water,  and  turned  to  a  critical  survey 
of  the  remoter  crests  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

The  white  snowcaps  had  gone.  The  purple  of  the 
lesser  hills,  usually  so  delicate  in  their  gradings,  were  lost 
in  one  monotony  of  dull  red  light.  The  nearer  distance 
was  a  mere  world  of  ghostly  shadows  tinged  with  the 
same  threatening  hue,  and  only  the  immediate  neighbor- 
hood was  in  any  way  clean  cut  and  sharp  to  the  eye. 
His  brows  drew  together  in  perplexity.  Again,  down 
there  in  the  valley,  beyond  the  brink  of  the  plateau,  the 
dull  red  fog  prevailed,  and  yet  through  it  he  could  see  the 
dim  picture  of  grass-land,  of  woods,  of  river,  and  the  ris- 
ing slopes  of  more  hills  beyond. 

No,  the  secret  of  the  atmospheric  phenomenon  was  not 
up  here,  and  it  was  useless  to  waste  more  time.  So  he 
moved  off,  much  to  his  impatient  horse's  relief,  in  a  direc- 
tion where  he  knew  a  gentle  slope  would  lead  him  from  the 
hilltop  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  old  farm  and  the  ford 
across  Yellow  Creek. 

But  even  this  way  the  road  required  negotiation,  for  the 
same  bald  rocks  and  barrenness  offered  no  sure  foothold, 
However,  Csesar  was  used  to  this  path,  and  made  no  mis- 
takes. His  master  gave  him  his  head,  and,  with  eyes  to 
the  ground,  the  sure-footed  beast  moved  along  with  al- 
most catlike  certainty.  At  last  the  soft  soil  of  the  valley 
was  reached  again,  and  once  more  the  deepening  woods 
swallowed  them  up. 

The  end  of  Buck's  journey  lay  across  Yellow  Creek, 
where  a  few  miserable  hovels  sheltered  a  small  commu- 
nity of  starving  gold-seekers,  and  thither  he  now  hastened. 
On  his  way  he  had  a  distant  view  of  the  old  farm.  He 


6o  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

would  have  preferred  to  have  avoided  it,  but  that  was 
quite  impossible.  He  had  not  yet  got  over  the  parting 
from  it,  which  had  taken  place  the  previous  day.  To  him 
had  fallen  the  lot  of  handing  it  over  to  the  farm-wife  who 
had  been  sent  on  ahead  from  Leeson  Butte  to  prepare  it 
for  her  employer's  coming.  And  the  full  sense  of  his  loss 
was  still  upon  him.  Wrong  as  he  knew  himself  to  be,  he 
resented  the  newcomer's  presence  in  his  old  home,  and 
could  not  help  regarding  her  as  something  in  the  nature 
of  a  usurper. 

The  camp  to  which  he  was  riding  was  a  wretched 
enough  place.  Nor  could  Nature,  here  in  her  most  luxu- 
riant mood,  relieve  it  from  its  sordid  aspect.  A  few  of  the 
huts  were  sheltered  at  the  fringe  of  the  dark  woods,  but 
most  were  set  out  upon  the  foreground  of  grass,  which 
fronted  the  little  stream. 

As  Buck  approached  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  they 
were  the  most  deplorable  huts  ever  built.  They  were  like 
a  number  of  inverted  square  boxes,  with  roofs  sloping 
from  front  to  back.  They  were  made  out  of  rough  logs 
cut  from  the  pine  woods,  roofed  in  with  an  ill-laid  thatch 
of  mud  and  grass,  supported  on  the  lesser  limbs  cut  from 
the  trees  felled  to  supply  the  logs.  How  could  such  de- 
spairing hovels  ever  be  expected  to  shelter  men  marked 
out  for  success?  There  was  disaster,  even  tragedy,  in 
every  line  of  them.  They  were  scarcely  even  shelters 
from  the  elements.  With  their  broken  mud  plaster,  their 
doorless  entrances,  their  ill-laid  thatch,  they  were  surely 
little  better  than  sieves. 

Then  their  surroundings  of  garbage,  their  remnants  of 
coarse  garments  hanging  out  upon  adjacent  bushes,  their 
lack  of  every  outward  sign  of  industrial  prosperity.  No, 


THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE  61 

to  Buck's  sympathetic  eyes,  there  was  tragedy  written  in 
every  detail  of  the  place. 

Were  not  these  people  a  small  band  of  regular  tramp 
gold-seekers  ?  What  was  their  outlook  ?  What  was  their 
perspective  ?  The  tramp  gold-seeker  is  a  creature  apart 
from  the  rest  of  the  laboring  world.  He  is  not  an  ordinary 
worker  seeking  livelihood  in  a  regular  return  from  his 
daily  effort.  He  works  under  the  influence  of  a  craze  that 
is  little  less  than  disease.  He  could  never  content  himself 
with  stereotyped  employment. 

Besides,  the  rot  of  degradation  soon  seizes  upon  his 
moral  nature.  No  matter  what  his  origin,  what  his  up- 
bringing, his  education,  his  pursuit  of  gold  seems  to  have 
a  deadening  effect  upon  all  his  finer  instincts,  and  reduces 
him  swiftly  to  little  better  than  the  original  animal. 
Civilization  is  forgotten,  buried  deep  beneath  a  mire  of 
moral  mud,  accumulated  in  long  years,  and  often  in 
months  only  of  association  with  the  derelicts  and  "  hard 
cases"  of  the  world.  Rarely  enough,  when  Fortune's 
pendulum  swings  toward  one  more  favored  individual,  a 
flickering  desire  to  return  to  gentler  paths  will  momen- 
tarily stir  amidst  the  mire,  but  it  seldom  amounts  to  more 
than  something  in  the  nature  of  a  drunkard's  dream  in 
moments  of  sobriety,  and  passes  just  as  swiftly.  The 
lustful  animal  appetite  is  too  powerful ;  it  demands  the 
sordid  pleasures  which  the  possession  of  gold  makes  possi- 
ble. Nor  will  it  be  satisfied  with  anything  else.  A  tramp 
gold-seeker  is  irreclaimable.  His  joy  lies  in  his  quest  and 
the  dreams  of  fortune  which  are  all  too  rarely  fulfilled 
Every  nerve  centre  is  drugged  with  his  lust,  and,  like  all 
decadents,  he  must  fulfil  the  destiny  which  his  own  origi- 
nal weakness  has  marked  out  for  him. 


62  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Buck  understood  something  of  all  this  without  reason- 
ing it  out  in  his  simple  mind.  He  understood  with  a  heart 
as  reckless  as  their  own,  but  with  a  brain  that  had  long 
since  gathered  strength  from  the  gentle  wisdom  of  the 
man  who  was  a  sort  of  foster-father  to  him.  He  did  not 
pity.  He  felt  he  had  no  right  to  pity,  but  he  had  a  deep 
sympathy  and  love  for  the  strongly  human  motives  which 
stirred  these  people.  Success  or  failure,  he  saw  them  as 
men  and  women  whose  many  contradictory  qualities  made 
them  intensely  lovable  and  sometimes  even  objects  for 
respect,  if  for  nothing  else,  at  least  for  their  very  hardi- 
hood and  courage. 

He  rode  up  to  the  largest  hut,  which  stood  beyond  the 
shadow  of  a  group  of  pine-trees,  and  dropped  out  of  the 
saddle.  With  careful  forethought  he  loosened  the  cin- 
chas  of  Caesar's  saddle  and  removed  the  bit  from  his 
mouth.  Then,  with  one  last  look  at  the  purpling 
heavens,  he  pushed  aside  the  tattered  blanket  which 
hung  across  the  doorway  and  strode  into  the  dimly-lit 
apartment. 

It  was  a  silent  greeting  that  welcomed  him.  His  own 
"  Howdy  "  met  with  no  verbal  response.  But  every  eye 
of  the  men  lying  about  on  blankets  outspread  upon  the 
dusty  floor  was  turned  in  his  direction. 

The  scene  was  strange  enough,  but  for  Buck  it  had 
nothing  new.  The  gaunt  faces  and  tattered  clothing  had 
long  since  ceased  to  drive  him  to  despairing  protest. 
He  knew,  in  their  own  phraseology,  they  were  "  up  against 
it" — the  "it "  in  this  case  meaning  the  hideous  spectre  of 
starvation.  He  glanced  over  the  faces  and  counted 
seven  of  them.  He  knew  them  all.  But,  drawing  for- 
ward an  upturned  soap-box,  he  sat  down  and  addressed 


THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE  63 

himself  to  Curly  Saunders,  who  happened  to  be  lying  on 
his  elbow  nearest  the  door. 

"  Say,  I  just  came  along  to  give  you  word  that  vittles 
are  on  the  way  from  Leeson  Butte,"  he  said,  as  though  the 
fact  was  of  no  serious  importance. 

Curly,  a  short,  thick-set  man  of  enormous  strength  and 
round,  youngish  face,  eased  himself  into  a  half-sitting 
position.  But  before  he  could  answer  another  man,  with 
iron-gray  hair,  sat  up  alertly  and  eyed  their  visitor  without 
much  friendliness. 

"  More  o'  the  Padre's  charity  ? "  he  said,  in  a  manner 
that  suggested  resentment  at  the  benefit  he  had  no  inten- 
tion of  refusing.  Curiously  enough,  too,  his  careless 
method  of  expression  in  no  way  disguised  the  natural 
refinement  of  his  voice. 

Buck  shook  his  head,  and  his  eyes  were  cold. 

"  Don't  guess  there's  need  of  charity  among  friends, 
Beasley." 

Beasley  Melford  laughed.     It  was  not  a  pleasant  laugh. 

"  Guess  it  makes  him  feel  good  dopin'  out  stuff  to  us 
same  as  if  we  was  bums,"  he  said  harshly. 

"  Shut  up  !  "  cried  a  voice  from  a  remote  corner.  Buck 
looked  over  and  saw  a  lean,  dark  man  hugging  his 
knees  and  smoking  a  well-burnt  briar  pipe.  The  same 
voice  went  on  :  "  Guess  you'd  sicken  most  anybody, 
Beasley.  You  got  a  mean  mind.  Guess  the  Padre's 
a  hell  of  a  bully  feller." 

"  He  sure  is,"  said  Montana  Ike,  lulling  over  on  to  his 
side  and  pushing  his  canvas  kit-bag  into  a  more  comfort- 
able position.  "  You  was  sayin'  there  was  vittles  comin' 
along,  Buck  ?  Guess  ther'  ain't  no  '  chawin' '  now  ?  " 

"  Tobacco,  sure,"  responded  Buck  with  a  smile. 


64  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

One  by  one  the  men  sat  up  on  their  frowsy  blankets. 
The  thought  of  provisions  seemed  to  have  roused  them 
from  their  lethargy.  Buck's  eyes  wandered  over  the 
faces  peering  at  him  out  of  the  murky  shadows.  The 
squalor  of  the  hut  was  painful,  and,  with  the  knowledge 
that  help  was  at  hand,  the  sight  struck  him  even  more 
forcibly. 

"Quit  work?"  he  asked  a  moment  later,  in  his  abrupt 
fashion. 

Somebody  laughed. 

Buck  looked  round  for  an  answer.  And  again  his  eyes 
caught  the  steely,  ironical  gleam  in  the  man  Beasley 's. 

"  The  last  o'  Slaney's  kids  '  passed  in '  last  night.  Guess 
we're  goin'  to  bury  her." 

Buck  nodded.  He  had  no  words.  But  he  carefully 
avoided  looking  in  the  direction  of  Slaney  Dick,  who  sat 
in  a  far  corner  smoking  his  pipe  and  hugging  his  great 
knees. 

Beasley  went  on  in  the  same  half-mocking  tone  — 

"  Guess  it's  up  to  me  to  read  the  service  over  her." 

"  You  ! " 

Buck  could  not  help  the  ejaculation.  Beasley  Melford 
was  an  unfrocked  Churchman.  Nor  was  it  known  the 
reason  of  his  dismissal  from  his  calling.  All  Buck  knew 
was  that  Beasley  was  a  man  of  particularly  low  morals 
and  detestable  nature.  The  thought  that  he  was  to 
administer  the  last  rites  of  the  Church  over  the  dead 
body  of  a  pure  and  innocent  infant  set  his  every  feeling  in 
active  protest.  He  turned  to  Slaney. 

"The  Padre  buried  the  others  ?"  he  said  questioningly. 

It  was  Dick's  partner,  Abe  AHinson,  who  took  it  upon 
himself  to  answer. 


THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE  65 

<Y'  see  the  Padre's  done  a  heap.  Slaney's  missis 
didn't  guess  we'd  orter  worrit  him.  That's  how  she 
said." 

Buck  suddenly  swung  round  on  Beasley. 

"  Fix  it  for  to-morrow,  an'  the  Padre'll  be  right  along." 

He  looked  the  ex-Churchman  squarely  in  the  eye.  He 
was  not  making  a  request.  His  words  were  an  emphatic 
refusal  to  allow  the  other  the  office.  It  was  Slaney 
who  answered  him. 

"I'm  glad/'  he  said.  Then,  as  an  afterthought,  "an' 
the  missis'll  be  glad,  too." 

After  that  nobody  seemed  inclined  to  break  the  silence. 
Nor  was  it  until  somebody  hawked  and  spat  that  the 
spell  was  broken. 

"We  bin  holdin'  a  meetin',"  said  Curly  Saunders 
heavily.  "  Y'  see,  it  ain't  no  good." 

Buck  nodded  at  the  doorway. 

"You  mean ?" 

"  The  prospect,"  Beasley  broke  in  and  laughed.  "  Say, 
we  sure  been  suckers  stayin'  around  so  long.  Ther'  ain't 
no  gold  within  a  hundred  miles  of  us.  We're  just 
lyin'  rottin'  around  like — stinkin'  sheep." 

Curly  nodded. 

"  Sure.  That's  why  we  held  a  meeting.  We're  goin 
to  up  stakes  an'  git." 

"Whereto?" 

Buck's  quick  inquiry  met  with  a  significant  silence,  which 
Montana  Ike  finally  broke. 

"  See  here,"  he  cried,  with  sudden  force.  "  What's  the 
use  in  astin'  fool  questions  ?  Ther'  ain't  no  gold,  ther' 
ain't  nuthin'.  We  got  color  fer  scratchin'  when  we  first 
gathered  around  like  skippin'  lambs,  but  ther's  nuthin1 


66  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

under  the  surface,  an'  the  surface  is  played  right  out.  I 
tell  you  it's  a  cursed  hole.  Jest  look  around.  Look  at 
yonder  Devil's  Hill.  Wher'd  you  ever  see  the  like  ? 
That's  it.  Devil's  Hill.  Say,  it's  a  devil's  region,  an' 
everything  to  it  belongs  to  the  devil.  Ther'  ain't  nuthin' 
fer  us — nuthin',  but  to  die  of  starvin'.  Ah,  psha' !  It's  a 
lousy  world.  Gawd,  when  I  think  o'  the  wimminfolk  it 
makes  my  liver  heave.  Say,  some  of  them  pore  kiddies 
ain't  had  milk  fer  weeks,  an'  we  only'ke'p  'em  alive  thro' 
youse  two  fellers.  Say,"  he  went  on,  in  a  sudden  burst 
of  passion,  "  we  got  a  right,  same  as  other  folk,  to  live, 
an'  our  kids  has,  an'  our  wimmin  too.  Mebbe  we  ain't 
same  as  other  folks,  them  folks  with  their  kerridges  an' 
things  in  cities,  mebbe  our  kiddies  ain't  got  no  names  by 
the  Chu'ch,  an'  our  wimmin  ain't  no  Chu'ch  writin'  fer 
sharin'  our  blankets,  but  we  got  a  right  to  live,  cos  we're 
made  to  live.  An*  by  Gee !  I'm  goin'  to  live !  I  tell 
youse  folk  right  here,  ther's  cattle,  an'  ther's  horses,  an* 
ther's  grain  in  this  dogone  land,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  git 
what  I  need  of  'em  ef  I'm  gettin'  it  at  the  end  of  a  gun  ! 
That's  me,  fellers,  an'  them  as  has  the  notion  had  best 
foller  my  trail." 

The  hungry  eyes  of  the  man  shone  in  the  dusk  of  the 
room.  The  harsh  lines  of  his  weak  face  were  desperate. 
Every  word  he  said  he  meant,  and  his  whole  protest  was 
the  just  complaint  of  a  man  willing  enough  to  accept  the 
battle  as  it  came,  but  determined  to  save  life  itself  by  any 
means  to  his  hand. 

It  was  Beasley  who  caught  at  the  suggestion. 

"  You've  grit,  Ike,  an'  guess  I'm  with  you  at  any  game 
like  that." 

Buck  waited  for  the  others.    He  had  no  wish  to  perstiade 


THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE  67 

them  to  any  definite  course.  He  had  come  there  with 
definite  instructions  from  the  Padre,  and  in  his  own  time 
he  would  carry  them  out. 

A  youngster,  who  had  hitherto  taken  no  part  in  the  talk, 
suddenly  lifted  a  pair  of  heavy  eyes  from  the  torn  pages 
of  a  five-cent  novel. 

"  Wai  I  "  he  cried  abruptly.  "  Wot's  the  use  o'  gas- 
*in'  ?  Let's  light  right  out.  That's  how  we  sed  'fore  you 
come  along,  Buck."  He  paused,  and  a  sly  grin  slowly 
spread  over  his  features.  Then,  lowering  his  voice  to  a 
persuasive  note,  he  went  on,  "  Here,  fellers,  mebbe  ther' 
ain't  more'n  cents  among  us.  Wai,  I'd  sure  say  we  best 
pool  'em,  an'  I'll  set  right  out  over  to  Bay  Creek  an9  git 
whisky.  I'll  make  it  in  four  hours.  Then  we'll  hev  jest 
one  hell  of  a  time  to-night,  an'  up  stakes  in  the  morning, 
fer — fer  any  old  place  out  o'  here.  How's  that  ?  " 

"Guess  our  few  cents  don't  matter,  anyways,"  agreed 
Curly,  his  dull  eyes  brightening.  "  I'd  say  the  Kid's  right. 
I  ain't  lapped  a  sup  o'  rye  in  months." 

"  It  ain't  bad  fer  Soapy,"  agreed  Beasley.  "  Wot  say, 
boys?" 

He  glanced  round  for  approval  and  found  it  in  every 
eye  except  Slaney's.  The  bereaved  father  seemed  utterly 
indifferent  to  anything  except  his  own  thoughts,  which 
were  of  the  little  waxen  face  he  had  watched  grow  paler 
and  paler  in  his  arms  only  yesterday  morning,  until  he 
had  laid  the  poor  little  dead  body  in  his  weeping  woman's 
lap. 

Buck  felt  the  time  had  come  for  him  to  interpose.  He 
turned  on  Beasley  with  unmistakable  coldness. 

"  Guess  the  Padre  got  the  rest  of  his  farm  money  yester- 
day— when  the  woman  came  along,"  he  said.  "  An'  the 


68  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

vittles  he  ordered  are  on  the  trail.  I'd  say  you  don't 
need  to  light  out — yet." 

Beasley  laughed  offensively. 

"  Still  on  the  charity  racket?  "  he  sneered. 

Buck's  eyes  lit  with  sudden  anger. 

"  You  don't  need  to  touch  the  vittles,"  he  cried.  "  You 
haven't  any  woman,  and  no  kiddies.  Guess  there's  noth- 
ing to  keep  you  from  getting  right  out." 

He  eyed  the  man  steadily,  and  then  turned  slowly  to 
the  others. 

"  Here,  boys,  the  Padre  says  the  food  and  canned  truck' II 
be  along  to-morrow  morning.  And  you  can  divide  it  be- 
tween you  accordin'  to  your  needs.  If  you  want  to  get 
out  it'll  help  you  on  the  road.  And  he'll  hand  each  man 
a  fifty-dollar  bill,  which'll  make  things  easier.  If  you 
want  to  stop  around,  and  give  the  hill  another  chance, 
why  the  fifty  each  will  make  a  grub  stake." 

The  proposition  was  received  in  absolute  silence. 
Even  Beasley  had  no  sneering  comment.  The  Kid's 
eyes  were  widely  watching  Buck's  dark  face.  Slaney  had 
removed  his  pipe,  and,  for  the  moment,  his  own  troubles 
were  forgotten  under  a  sudden  thrill  of  hope.  Curly 
Saunders  sat  up  as  though  about  to  speak,  but  no  words 
came.  Abe  Allinson,  Ike,  and  Blue  Grass  Pete  con- 
tented themselves  with  staring  their  astonishment  at 
the  Padre's  munificence.  Finally  Slaney  hawked  and 
spat. 

"  Seems  to  me,"  he  said,  in  his  quiet,  drawling  voice, 
"  the  Padre  sold  his  farm  to  help  us  out." 

"  By  Gee  !  that's  so,"  exclaimed  Curly,  thumping  a 
fist  into  the  palm  of  his  other  hand. 

The  brightening  eyes  lit  with  hope.     The  whole  atmos- 


THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE  69 

phere  of  the  place  seemed  to  have  lost  something  of  its 
depression. 

Ike  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  gettin'  out     But  say,  the  Padre's  a  bully  feller.1' 

Abe  nodded. 

"  Ike's  right.  Slaney  an'  me's  gettin'  out,  too.  Devil's 
Hill's  a  cursed  blank." 

"  Me,  too,"  broke  in  the  Kid.  "  But  say,  wot  about 
poolin'  our  cents  for  whisky  ?  "  he  went  on,  his  young 
mind  still  intent  upon  the  contemplated  orgie. 

It  was  Buck  who  helped  the  wavering  men  to  their 
decision.  He  understood  them.  He  understood  their 
needs.  The  ethics  of  the  proposition  did  not  trouble  him. 
These  men  had  reached  a  point  where  they  needed  a  sup- 
port such  as  only  the  fiery  spirits  their  stomachs  craved 
could  give  them.  The  Padre's  help  would  come  after- 
ward. At  the  moment,  after  the  long  weeks  of  disap- 
pointment, they  needed  something  to  lift  them,  even  if  it 
was  only  momentarily.  He  reached  round  to  his  hip- 
pocket  and  pulled  out  two  single-dollar  bills  and  laid  them 
on  the  dusty  ground  in  front  of  him. 

"Ante  up,  boys,"  he  said  cheerfully.  " Empty  your 
dips.  The  Kid's  right.  An'  to-morrow  you  can  sure 
choose  what  you're  going  to  do."  Then  he  turned  to  the 
Kid.  "  My  plug  Caesar's  outside.  Guess  you  best  take 
him.  He'll  make  the  journey  in  two  hours.  An'  you'll 
need  to  bustle  him  some,  because  ther's  a  kind  o'  storm 
gettin'  around  right  smart.  Eh  ? "  He  turned  and 
glanced  sharply  at  Beasley.  "  You  got  a  dollar?  " 

"  It's  fer  whisky,"  leered  the  ex-Churchman,  as  he  laid 
the  dirty  paper  on  the  top  of  Buck's. 

In  two  minutes  the  pooling  was  completed  and  the  Kid 


70  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

prepared  to  set  out.  Eight  dollars  was  all  the  meeting 
could  muster — eight  dollars  collected  in  small  silver, 
which  represented  every  cent  these  men  possessed  in  the 
world.  Buck  knew  this.  At  least  he  could  answer  for 
even-body  except  perhaps  Beasley  Melford.  That  wily 
individual  he  believed  was  capable  of  anything.  He  was 
sure  that  he  was  capable  of  accepting  anything  from  any- 
body, while  yet  being  in  a  position  to  more  than  help 
himself. 

Buck  went  outside  to  see  the  Kid  off,  and  some  of  the 
men  had  gathered  in  the  doorway.  They  watched  the 
boy  swing  himself  into  the  saddle,  and  the  desperate 
shadows  had  lightened  on  their  hungry  faces.  The 
buoyancy  of  their  irresponsible  natures  was  reasserting 
itself.  That  bridge,  which  the  Padre's  promise  had  erected 
between  their  despair  and  the  realms  of  hope,  however 
slight  its  structure,  was  sufficient  to  lift  them  once  more 
to  the  lighter  mood  so  natural  to  them. 

So  their  tongues  were  loosened,  and  they  offered  their 
messenger  the  jest  from  which  they  could  seldom  long 
refrain,  the  coarse,  deep- throated  jest  which  sprang  from 
sheer  animal  spirits  rather  than  any  subtlety  of  wit.  They 
forgot  for  the  time  that  until  Buck's  coming  they  had  con- 
templated the  burial  of  a  comrade's  only  remaining  off- 
spring. They  forgot  that  the  grieving  father  was  still 
within  the  hut,  his  great  jaws  clenched  upon  the  mouth- 
piece of  his  pipe,  his  hollow  eyes  still  gazing  straight  in 
front  of  him.  That  was  their  way.  There  was  a  slight 
ray  of  hope  for  them,  a  brief  respite.  There  was  the 
thought,  too,  of  eight  dollars'  worth  of  whisky,  a  just  por- 
tion of  which  was  soon  to  be  in  each  stomach. 

But  Buck  was  not  listening  to  them.     He  had  almost 


THE  STEEPS  OF  LIFE  71 

forgotten  the  messenger  riding  away  on  his  treasured 
horse,  so  occupied  was  he  by  the  further  change  that  had 
occurred  in  the  look  of  the  sky  and  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  valley.  Presently  he  lifted  one  strong,  brown  hand 
to  his  forehead  and  wiped  the  beads  of  perspiration 
from  it. 

"Phew!  What  heat!  Here,"  he  cried,  pointing  at 
Devil's  Hill,  away  to  his  left,  "  what  d'you  make  of  that  ?  " 

For  a  moment  all  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  his  out- 
stretched arm.  And  slowly  there  grew  in  them  a  look  of 
awe  such  as  rarely  found  place  in  their  feelings.  ^? 

The  crown  of  the  hill,  the  whole  of  the  vast,  black 
plateau  was  enveloped  in  a  dense  gray  fog.  Above  that 
hung  a  mighty,  thunderous  pall  of  purple  storm-cloud. 
Back,  away  into  the  mountains  in  billowy  rolls  it  extended, 
until  the  whole  distance  was  lost  in  a  blackness  as  of 
night.  "-ru 

It  was  Curly  Saunders  who  broke  the  awed  silence. 

"  Jumpin'  Mackinaw  1 "  he  cried.  Then  he  looked  after 
their  departing  messenger.  "  Say,  that  feller  oughtn't 
to've  gone  to  Bay  Creek.  He'll  never  make  it." 

Beasley,  whose  feelings  were  less  susceptible,  and  whose 
mind  was  set  on  the  promised  orgie,  sneered  at  the  other's 
tone. 

"  Skeered  some,  ain't  you  ?    Tcha' !    It's  jest  wind " 

But  he  never  completed  his  sentence.  At  that  instant 
the  whole  of  the  heavens  seemed  to  split  and  gape  open. 
A  shaft  of  light,  extending  from  horizon  to  horizon,  para- 
lyzed their  vision.  It  was  accompanied  by  a  crash  of 
thunder  that  set  their  ear-drums  well-nigh  bursting.  Both 
lightning  and  the  thunder  lasted  for  what  seemed  inter- 
minable minutes  and  left  their  senses  dazed,  and  -the  earth 


72  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

rocking  beneath  their  feet.  Again  came  the  blinding 
light,  and  again  the  thunder  crashed.  Then,  in  a  mo- 
ment, panic  had  set  in,  and  the  tattered  blanket  had  fallen 
behind  the  last  man  as  a  rush  was  made  for  the  doubtful 
shelter  of  the  hut 


CHAPTER  VI 

OUT  OF  THE  STORM 

THE  challenge  had  gone  forth.  In  those  two  vivid 
shafts  of  light,  in  the  deafening  peals  of  thunder  the  war 
of  elements  had  been  proclaimed,  and  these  men  of  the 
wilderness  understood  something  of  their  danger. 

Thereafter,  for  some  moments,  a  threatening  silence 
reigned  everywhere.  The  birds,  the  insects  even,  all  life 
seemed  to  crouch,  hushed  and  expectant.  The  valley 
might  have  been  the  valley  of  death,  so  still,  so  dark, 
so  threatening  was  the  superheated  atmosphere  that  hung 
over  it. 

The  men  within  the  shelter  of  the  hut  waited,  and  only 
Buck  and  Blue  Grass  Pete  stood  near  the  blanket-covered 
doorway.  There  was  little  enough  confidence  in  the  in- 
efficient shelter  of  the  hut,  but  it  was  their  natural  retreat 
and  so  they  accepted  it.  Then  the  moment  of  tension 
passed,  and  Buck,  glancing  swiftly  round  the  hut,  seized 
a  hammer  and  hastily  secured  the  covering  of  the  door- 
way. 

"  She'll  be  on  us  right  smart,"  he  observed  to  Pete,  who 
assisted  him  while  the  others  looked  on. 

"Yes,0  replied  Pete  resignedly.  "  Guess  we're  goin'  to 
git  it  good."  There  was  not  only  resignation,  but  indif- 
ference in  his  tone. 

Buck  glanced  up  at  the  roof,  and  the  rest  followed  his 
gaze  curiously.  He  shook  his  head. 


74  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  It's  worse  than " 

But  he  did  not  finish  what  he  had  to  say.  A  strange 
hissing  broke  from  the  distance,  like  the  sound  of  rushing 
water,  and,  with  each  passing  moment,  it  grew  in  volume 
until,  out  of  the  heart  of  it,  a  deep-throated  roar  boomed 
over  the  hilltops. 

It  was  a  great  wind-storm  leaping  down  from  the  ever- 
lasting snows  of  the  mountains,  tearing  its  way  through 
the  lean  branches  of  the  forest-tops,  the  wide-gaping 
valleys,  and  rushing  up  the  hillsides  with  a  violence  that 
tore  limbs  from  the  parent  trunks  and  rooted  out  trees 
that  had  withstood  a  thousand  storms.  It  was  the  deep 
breath  of  the  storm  fiend  launched  upon  a  defenseless 
earth,  carrying  wreck  and  destruction  whithersoever  its 
blast  was  turned. 

"ByJing'I" 

It  was  Montana  Ike  who  voiced  the  awe  crowding 
every  heart. 

But  his  exclamation  brought  the  practical  mind  of  Buck 
to  consideration  of  their  needs.  His  eyes  turned  again  to 
the  roof,  and  Pete  voiced  his  thoughts. 

"  She'll  carry  away  like — like  a  kite  when  it  hits  us,"  he 
declared.  Several  more  pairs  of  eyes  were  turned  help- 
lessly upward.  Suddenly  Buck  swung  round  upon  the 
doorway. 

"  Here  she  comes,"  he  cried.     "  Holy !  " 

With  a  rush  and  a  deafening  roar  the  wind  hit  the 
building  and  set  it  rocking.  Buck  and  Pete  flung  them- 
selves with  arms  outspread  against  the  ballooning  blanket, 
and  it  held.  Again  the  wind  crashed  against  the  sides  of 
the  hut.  Some  one  flung  himself  to  the  two  men's 
assistance.  Then  came  a  ripping  and  tearing,  and  the 


OUT  OF  THE  STORM  75 

thatch  hissed  away  on  the  breath  of  the  storm  like  straw 
caught  in  a  whirlwind.  The  men  gazed  stupidly  up 
at  the  blackened  heavens,  which  were  now  like  night. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done.  What  could  they  do? 
They  were  helpless.  And  not  even  a  voice  could  make  itself 
heard  in  the  howling  of  the  wind  as  it  shrieked  about  the 
angles  of  the  building. 

Then  came  the  rain.  It  fell  in  great  drops  whose  sheer 
weight  and  size  carried  them,  at  the  moment  of  impact, 
through  the  ragged  shirts  to  the  warm  flesh  beneath. 
In  a  second,  it  seemed,  a  waterspout  was  upon  them  and 
was  pouring  its  tide  into  the  roofless  hut. 

With  the  deluge,  the  elemental  battle  began  in  desper- 
ate earnest.  Peal  after  peal  of  thunder  crashed  directly 
overhead,  and  with  it  came  such  a  display  of  heavenly 
pyrotechnics  that  in  their  wildest  moments  these  men  had 
never  dreamed  of.  Their  eyes  were  blinded,  and  their 
ear-drums  were  bursting  with  the  incessant  hammering  of 
the  thunder. 

But  the  wind  had  passed  on,  shrieking  and  tearing  its 
way  into  the  dim  distance  until  its  voice  was  utterly 
drowned  in  the  sterner  detonations  of  the  battle 

Drenched  to  the  skin,  knee-deep  in  water,  the  men  stood 
herded  together  like  sheep  in  a.  pen.  Their  blankets  were 
awash  and  floated  about,  tangling  their  legs  in  the  minia- 
ture lake  that  could  not  find  rapid  enough  exit  through 
the  doorway.  They  could  only  stand  there  stupidly.  To 
go  outside  was  to  find  no  other  shelter,  and  only  the 
more  openly  to  expose  themselves  to  the  savage  forks  of 
lightning  playing  across  the  heavens  in  such  blinding 
streaks.  Nor  could  they  help  the  women  even  if  they 
needed  help  in  the  other  huts.  The  roofs  and  doors 


76  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

would  or  would  not  hold,  and,  in  the  latter  case,  until 
the  force  of  the  storm  abated  no  help  could  serve  them. 

The  storm  showed  no  signs  of  abatement.  The  black 
sky  was  the  sky  of  an  unlit  night.  There  was  no  light- 
ening in  any  direction,  and  the  blinding  flashes  amidst 
the  din  of  thunder  only  helped  to  further  intensify  the 
pitchy  vault.  The  splitting  of  trees  amidst  the  chaos 
reached  the  straining  ears,  and  it  was  plain  that  every 
flash  of  light  was  finding  a  billet  for  its  forked  tongue  in 
the  adjacent  forests. 

The  time  dragged  on.  How  long  or  how  short  was 
the  period  of  the  storm  none  of  the  men  wondered  or 
cared.  The  rapidity  of  the  thunder  crashes,  the  swift 
successions  of  lightning  entirely  held  them,  and,  strong 
as  they  were,  these  things  kept  their  nerves  jumping. 

Once  in  the  midst  of  it  all  a  man  suddenly  cried  out. 
His  cry  came  with  a  more  than  usually  brilliant  flash  of 
purplish,  steel-blue  fire.  The  intensity  of  it  carried  pain 
to  the  now  supersensitive  nerves  of  his  vision,  and 
he  turned  and  flung  himself  with  his  face  buried  upon 
his  arm  against  the  dripping  wall.  It  was  Beasley  Mel- 
ford.  He  stood  there  cowering,  a  dreadful  terror  shaking 
his  every  nerve. 

The  others  turned  stupidly  in  his  direction,  but  none 
had  thought  for  his  suffering.  Each  was  hard  pressed  to 
face  the  terror  of  it  all  himself ;  each  was  wondering  at 
what  moment  his  own  limits  would  be  reached.  Buck 
alone  showed  no  sign  of  the  nervous  tension.  His  deep 
brown  eyes  watched  the  group  about  him,  automatically 
blinking  with  every  flash  of  light,  and  with  only  the 
slightest  possible  start  as  the  thunder  crashed  into  his  ears. 

He  was  thinking,   too — thinking  hard  of  many  things. 


OUT  OF  THE  STORM  77 

The  Padre  was  out  in  the  hills  with  gun  and  traps. 
Would  he  have  anticipated  the  swift  rising  storm  and  re- 
gained the  shelter  of  the  stout  old  fort  ?  With  the  boom 
of  falling  trees  going  on  about  them,  with  the  fiery  crackle 
of  the  blazing  light  as  it  hit  the  topmost  branches  of  the 
adjacent  forest,  he  wondered  and  hoped,  and  feared  for 
the  old  man  in  the  same  thought. 

Then  there  were  those  others.  The  women  and  children 
in  the  other  huts.  How  were  they  faring  ?  But  he  re- 
membered that  the  married  quarters  were  better  built  than 
this  hut  had  been,  and  he  drew  comfort  from  the  thought. 
And  what  of  the  Kid,  and  of  Caesar  ? 

More  than  two  hours  passed  before  any  change  came. 
The  deafening  peals  of  thunder  seemed  as  though  they 
would  never  lessen  in  tone.  The  night-like  heavens 
seemed  as  though  no  sun  could  ever  hope  to  penetrate 
them  again.  And  the  streaming  rain — was  there  ever 
such  a  deluge  since  the  old  Biblical  days  ! 

Buck  understood  now  the  nature  of  the  storm.  Proba- 
bly twenty  years  would  elapse  before  another  cloudburst 
would  occur  again,  and  the  thought  set  him  speculating 
upon  the  effect  this  might  have  upon  the  lake  on  Devil's 
Hill.  What  might  not  happen  ?  And  then  the  creek  be- 
low 1  He  remembered  that  these  huts  of  the  gold-seekers 
were  on  the  low-lying  banks  of  the  creek.  What  if  it 
flooded  ?  He  stirred  uneasily,  and,  turning  to  the  door- 
way, opened  a  loose  fold  in  the  blanket  and  peered  out. 

He  saw  the  creek  in  a  sudden  blaze  of  light,  and  in  that 
momentary  brilliance  he  saw  that  the  rushing  water  was 
rising  rapidly.  A  grave  feeling  of  uneasiness  stirred  him 
and  he  turned  back  to  his  companions.  For  once  in  his 
life  he  felt  utterly  helpless. 


;8  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Another  hour  passed.  The  atmospheric  heat  had  passed, 
and  the  men  stood  shivering  in  the  water.  The  chill  was 
biting  into  their  very  bones,  but  still  there  was  no  respite. 
Twice  more  Buck  turned  anxious  eyes  upon  the  creek. 
And  each  time  his  alarm  increased  as  the  blinding  light 
revealed  the  rapid  rise  of  the  water.  He  dared  not  voice 
his  fears  yet.  He  understood  the  condition  of  mind  pre- 
vailing. To  warn  his  companions  would  be  to  set  them 
rushing  to  get  their  womenfolk  out  of  their  shelters,  and 
this  must  not  be  thought  of — yet. 

He  had  just  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  he  would 
abide  by  his  next  observation  when  the  long-looked-for 
change  began.  It  came  as  suddenly  as  the  rising  of  the 
storm  itself.  It  came  in  a  rapid  lightening  of  the  sky 
overhead.  From  black  to  gray  it  turned  almost  in  a 
second.  A  dull,  ominous,  rolling  world  of  gray  rain- 
clouds.  The  thunder  died  away  and  the  blinding  flashes 
came  no  more.  It  was  as  though  the  storm  had  been 
governed  by  one  all-powerful  will  and  the  word  to  "  cease 
fire  "  had  been  hurled  across  the  heavens  as  the  last  dis- 
charge of  monstrous  artillery  had  been  fired.  Then,  with 
the  lifting  of  the  darkness,  the  rain  slackened  too,  and  the 
deluge  eased. 

Buck  sighed  his  relief,  and  Curly  Saunders,  from  near 
by,  audibly  expressed  his. 
•  "  She's  lettin'  up,"  he  growled. 

Pete  caught  at  his  words. 

"  It  sure  is." 

Buck  was  about  to  speak,  but  his  lips  remained  open 
and  he  stood  listening. 

What  was  that  ? 

Something  was  moving  beyond  the  doorway.     Some- 


OUT  OF  THE  STORM  79 

thing  touched  the  blanket  as  though  seeking  support. 
Then  it  slid  down,  its  movement  visible  in  the  bulging  of 
the  drenched  cloth.  This  was  followed  by  a  heavy, 
squelching  flop.  The  body,  whatever  it  was,  had  fallen 
into  the  streaming  water  pouring  from  within  the  hut. 
Then  came  a  long-drawn,  piteous  moan  that  held  the 
men  gazing  silently  and  stupidly  at  the  sagging  blanket. 

It  was  while  they  stood  thus  that  the  rain  ceased  alto- 
gether, and  the  great  storm-clouds  broke  and  began  to 
disperse,  and  a  watery  sunbeam  lit  the  wreck  of  the  pass- 
ing storm.  As  its  light  poured  in  upon  the  wretched  in- 
terior a  second  moan,  short  and  weak  but  distinctly  au- 
dible, reached  the  astounded  ears  of  the  men.  There  was 
a  moment's  pause  as  it  died  out,  then  Buck's  arm  shot 
out,  and,  seizing  the  edge  of  the  blanket,  he  ripped  it 
from  its  fastenings  and  let  it  fall  to  the  ground.  Instantly 
every  neck  was  set  craning,  and  every  eye  was  alight 
with  wonder,  for  there,  half-resting  upon  the  sill  of  the 
doorway,  and  half-lying  upon  the  ground  with  the  water 
streaming  everywhere  about  her,  lay  the  huddled,  half- 
drowned  figure  of  a  young  woman. 

"  It's — it's  a — woman,"  cried  Pete  stupidly,  unable  to 
contain  his  astonishment  longer. 

"  It  sure  is,"  murmured  Curly,  with  equal  brightness. 

But  while  they  gave  the  company  the  benefit  of  their 
keenness  of  perception  Buck  had  dropped  upon  his  knees 
^nd  was  bending  over  the  wretched  victim  of  the  storm, 
lie  raised  her,  and  drew  her  tenderly  into  his  arms. 

"  'Tain't  one  of  ours,"  announced  Ike  over  his  shoulder. 

"  No."  Buck's  monosyllable  displayed  no  great  inter- 
^st  in  his  remark. 

Amidst  a  dead  silence  Buck  suddenly  straightened  up, 


80  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

with  the  dripping  figure  clasped  tightly  in  his  strong  arms. 
A  great  pity  shone  in  his  eyes  as  he  gazed  down  into  the 
fair  young  face.  It  was  the  first  time  in  all  his  life  he  had 
held  a  woman  in  his  arms,  and  the  sensation  of  it  made 
him  forget  those  others  about  him. 

Suddenly  Ike's  voice  aroused  him. 

"  By  Gar  !  "  he  cried.  "  Jest  look  at  that  red  ha'r.  Say, 
easy,  boys,  we're  treadin'  it  around  in  the  mud." 

It  was  true.  The  great  masses  of  the  girl's  red-gold 
hair  had  fallen  loose  and  were  trailing  in  the  water  as 
Buck  held  her.  It  reached  from  the  man's  shoulder, 
where  her  head  was  pillowed,  and  the  heavy-footed  men 
were  trampling  the  ends  of  it  into  the  mud.  Ike  stooped 
and  rescued  the  sodden  mass,  and  laid  it  gently  across 
Buck's  shoulders. 

For  a  moment  the  sun  shone  down  upon  the  wondering 
group.  The  clouds  had  broken  completely,  and  were 
scattering  in  every  direction  as  though  eager  to  escape 
observation  after  their  recent  shameful  display.  No  one 
seemed  to  think  of  moving  out  into  the  rapidly  warming 
open.  They  were  content  to  gather  about  Buck's  tall 
figure  and  gape  down  at  the  beautiful  face  of  the  girl  ly- 
ing in  his  arms. 

It  was  Beasley  Melford  who  first  became  practical. 

"  She's  alive,  anyway,"  he  said.  "  Sort  o'  stunned. 
Mebbe  it's  the  lightnin'." 

Pete  turned,  a  withering  glance  upon  his  foxy  face. 

"  Lightnin'  nuthin',"  he  cried  scornfully.  "  If  she'd  bin 
hit  she'd  ha'  bin  black  an'  dead.  Why,  she — she  ain't 
even  brown.  She's  white  as  white."  His  voice  became 
softer,  and  he  was  no  longer  addressing  the  ex-Church- 
man. "Did  y'  ever  see  seen  skin — so  soft  an'  white? 


OUT  OF  THE  STORM  81 

An'  that  ha'r,  my  word  !  I'd  gamble  a  dollar  her  eyes  is 
blue — ef  she'd  jest  open  'em." 

He  reached  out  a  great  dirty  hand  to  touch  the  beauti- 
ful whiteness  of  the  girl's  throat  with  a  caressing  move- 
ment, but  instantly  Buck's  voice,  sharp  and  commanding, 
stayed  his  action. 

"Quit  that  1 "  he  cried.  " Ke'p  your  durned  hands  to 
yourself,"  he  added,  with  a  strange  hoarseness. 

Pete's  eyes  lit  angrily. 

"  Eh  ?  What's  amiss  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Guess  I  ain't 
no  disease." 

Beasley  chuckled  across  at  him,  and  the  sound  of  his 
mirth  infuriated  Buck.  He  understood  the  laugh  and  the 
meaning  underlying  it. 

"  Buck  turned  wet  nurse,"  cried  the  ex-Churchman,  as 
he  beheld  the  sudden  flush  on  the  youngster's  face. 

"  You  can  ke'p  your  durned  talk,"  Buck  cried.  "  You 
Beasley — and  the  lot  of  you,"  he  went  on  recklessly. 
"  She's  no  ord'nary  gal ;  she's — she's  a  lady." 

Curly  and  Ike  nodded  agreement. 

But  Beasley,  whatever  his  fears  of  the  storm,  under- 
stood the  men  of  his  world.  Nor  had  he  any  fear  of  them, 
and  Buck's  threat  only  had  the  effect  of  rousing  the  worst 
side  of  his  nature,  at  all  times  very  near  the  surface. 

"  Lady  ?  Psha' !  Write  her  down  a  woman,  they're 
all  the  same,  only  dressed  different.  Seems  to  me  it's 
better  they're  all  just  women.  An'  Pete's  good  enough 
for  any  woman,  eh,  Pete  ?  She's  just  a  nice,  dandy  bit  o' 
soft  flesh  an'  blood,  eh,  Pete  ?  Guess  you  like  them  sort, 
eh,  Pete  ?  " 

The  man's  laugh  was  a  hideous  thing  to  listen  to,  but 
Pete  was  not  listening.  Buck  heard,  and  his  dark  face 


82  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

r 

went  ghastly  pale,  even  though  his  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  beautiful  face  with  its  closed,  heavily-lashed  eyes. 
Pete'  s  attention  was  held  by  the  delicate  contours  of  her 
perfect  figure  and  the  gaping,  bedraggled  white  shirt- 
waist, where  the  soft  flesh  of  her  fair  bosom  showed 
through,  and  the  delicate  lace  and  ribbons  of  her  under- 
garments were  left  in  full  view. 

No  one  offered  Beasley  encouragement  and  his  laugh 
fell  flat.  And  when  Curly  spoke  it  was  to  express  some- 
thing of  the  general  thought. 

"  Wonder  how  she  came  here  ?  "  he  said  thoughtfully. 

"  Seems  as  though  the  storm  had  kind  o'  dumped  her 
down/'  Abe  Allinson  admitted. 

Again  Beasley  chuckled. 

"  Say,  was  ther'  ever  such  a  miracle  o'  foolishness  as 
you  fellers  ?  You  make  me  lafl — or  tired,  or  something. 
Wher'd  she  come  from  ?  Ain't  the  Padre  sold  his  farm  ?  " 
he  demanded,  turning  on  Buck.  "  Ain't  he  sold  it  to  a 
woman  ?  An'  ain't  he  expectin'  her  along  ?  " 

Buck  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  beautiful  face,  and 
looked  up  in  answer  to  the  challenge. 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  said,  his  look  suddenly  hardening  as 
he  confronted  Beasley's  face.  "  I  had  forgotten.  This 
must  surely  be  Miss — Miss  Rest.  That's  the  name  Mrs. 
Ransford,  the  old  woman  at  the  farm,  said.  Rest."  He 
repeated  the  name  as  though  it  were  pleasant  to  his  ears. 

"  Course,"  cried  Curly  cheerfully.     "  That's  who  it  is—- 


sure." 


"  Rest,  eh  ?  Miss — Rest,"  murmured  the  preoccupied 
Pete.  Then  he  added,  half  to  himself,  "  My,  but  she's  a 
•dandy  !  Ain't — ain't  she  a  pictur*,  ain't  she ?  " 

Buck  suddenly  pushed  him  aside,  and  his  action  was 


OUT  OF  THE  STORM  85 

probably  rougher  than  he  knew.  But  for  some  reason  he 
did  not  care.  For  some  reason  he  had  no  thought  for 
any  one  but  the  fair  creature  lying  in  his  arms.  His  head 
was  throbbing  with  a  strange  excitement,  and  he  moved 
swiftly  toward  the  door,  anxious  to  leave  the  inquisitive 
eyes  of  his  companions  behind  him. 

As  he  reached  the  door  Beasley's  hateful  tones  arrested 
him. 

"  Say,  you  ain't  takin'  that  pore  thing  up  to  the  fort,  are 
you  ?  "  he  jeered. 

Buck  swung  about  with  the  swiftness  of  a  panther. 
His  eyes  were  ablaze  with  a  cold  fire. 

"  You  rotten  outlaw  parson  1 "  he  cried. 

He  waited  for  the  insult  to  drive  home.  Then  when  he 
saw  the  fury  in  the  other's  face,  a  fury  he  intended  to  stir, 
he  went  on  — 

"  Another  insinuation  like  that  an'  I'll  shoot  you  like 
the  dog  you  are,"  he  cried,  and  without  waiting  for  an 
answer  he  turned  to  the  others.  "  Say,  fellers,"  he  went 
on,  "I'm  takin'  this  gal  wher'  she  belongs — down  to  the 
farm.  I'm  goin'  to  hand  her  over  to  the  old  woman 
there.  An'  if  I  hear  another  filthy  suggestion  from  this 
durned  skunk  Beasley,  what  I  said  goes.  It's  not  a  threat. 
It's  a  promise,  sure,  an'  I  don't  ever  forgit  my  promises." 

Beasley's  face  was  livid,  and  he  drew  a  sharp  breath. 

"  I  don't  know  'bout  promises,"  he  said  fiercely.  "  But 
you  won't  find  me  fergittin'  much  either." 

Buck  turned  to  the  door  again  and  threw  his  retort 
over  his  shoulder. 

"  Then  you  sure  won't  forgit  I've  told  you  what  you 
are." 

"I  sure  won't." 


84  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Nor  did  Buck  fail  to  appreciate  the  venom  the  other 
flung  into  his  words.  But  he  was  reckless — always  reck- 
less. And  he  hurried  through  the  doorway  and  strode  off 
with  his  still  unconscious  burden, 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  SIMPLE   MANHOOD 

ALL  thought  of  Beasley  Melford  quickly  became  lost  in 
feelings  of  a  deeper  and  stronger  nature  as  Buck  passed 
out  into  the  open.  His  was  not  a  nature  to  dwell  un- 
necessarily upon  the  clashings  of  every-day  life.  Such  pin- 
pricks were  generally  superficial,  to  be  brushed  aside  and 
treated  without  undue  consideration  until  such  time  as 
some  resulting  fester  might  gather  and  drastic  action  be- 
come necessary.  The  fester  had  not  yet  gathered,  there- 
fore he  set  his  quarrel  aside  for  the  time  when  he  could 
give  it  his  undivided  attention. 

As  he  strode  away  the  world  seemed  very  wide  to 
Buck.  So  wide,  indeed,  that  he  had  no  idea  of  its  limits, 
nor  any  desire  to  seek  them.  He  preferred  that  his  eyes 
should  dwell  only  upon  those  things  which  presented 
themselves  before  a  plain,  wholesome  vision.  He  had 
no  desire  to  peer  into  the  tainted  recesses  of  any  other 
life  than  that  which  he  had  always  known.  And  in 
his  outlook  was  to  be  witnessed  the  careful  guidance 
of  his  friend,  the  Padre.  Nor  was  his  capacity  stunted 
thereby,  nor  his  strong  manhood.  On  the  contrary,  it 
left  him  with  a  great  reserve  of  power  to  fight  his  little 
battle  of  the  wilderness. 

Yet  surely  such  a  nature  as  his  should  have  been  dan- 
gerously open  to  disaster.  The  guilelessness  resulting 
from  such  a  simplicity  of  life  ought  surely  to  have  fitted 


86  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

him  for  a  headlong  rush  into  the  pitfalls  which  are  ever 
awaiting  the  unwary.  This  might  have  been  so  in  a  man 
of  less  strength,  less  reckless  purpose.  Therein  lay  his 
greatest  safeguard.  His  was  the  strength,  the  courage, 
the  resource  of  a  mind  trained  in  the  hard  school  of  the 
battle  for  existence  in  the  wilderness,  where,  without 
subtlety,  without  fear,  he  walked  over  whatever  path  life 
offered  him,  ready  to  meet  every  obstruction,  every  dis- 
aster, with  invincible  courage. 

It  was  through  this  very  attitude  that  his  threat  against 
Beasley  Melford  was  not  to  be  treated  lightly.  His  com- 
rades understood  it.  Beasley  himself  knew  it.  Buck  had 
assured  him  that  he  would  shoot  him  down  like  a  dog  if 
he  offended  against  the  unwritten  laws  of  instinctive 
chivalry  as  he  understood  them,  and  he  would  do  it  with- 
out any  compunction  or  fear  of  consequences. 

A  woman's  fame  to  him  was  something  too  sacred  to  be 
lightly  treated,  something  quite  above  the  mere  considera- 
tion of  life  and  death.  The  latter  was  an  ethical  proposi- 
tion which  afforded  him,  where  a  high  principle  was  in 
the  balance  against  it,  no  qualms  whatsoever.  It  was  the 
inevitable  result  of  his  harsh  training  in  the  life  that  was 
his.  The  hot,  rich  blood  of  strong  manhood  ran  in  his 
veins,  but  it  was  the  hot  blood  tempered  with  honesty 
and  courage,  and  without  one  single  taint  of  meanness. 

As  he  passed  down  the  river  bank,  beyond  which  the 
racing  waters  flowed  a  veritable  torrent,  he  saw  the  camp 
women  moving  about  outside  their  huts.  He  saw  them 
wringing  out  their  rain-drenched  garments.  Thus  he 
knew  that  the  storm  had  served  their  miserable  homes 
badly,  and  he  felt  sorry  for  them. 

For  the  most  part  they  were  heavy,  frowsy  creatures, 


A  SIMPLE  MANHOOD  87 

slatternly  and  uncouth.  They  came  generally  from  the 
dregs  of  frontier  cities,  or  were  the  sweepings  of  the  open 
country,  gleaned  in  the  debauched  moments  of  the  men 
who  protected  them.  Nor,  as  his  eyes  wandered  in  their 
direction,  was  it  possible  to  help  a  comparison  between 
them  and  the  burden  of  delicate  womanhood  he  held 
in  his  arms,  a  comparison  which  found  them  painfully 
wanting. 

He  passed  on  under  the  bold  scrutiny  of  those  feminine 
eyes,  but  they  left  him  quite  unconscious.  His  thoughts 
had  drifted  into  a  wonderful  dreamland  of  his  own,  a 
dreamland  such  as  he  had  never  visited  before,  an  un- 
suspected dreamland  whose  beauties  could  never  again 
hold  him  as  they  did  now. 

The  sparkling  sunlight  which  had  so  swiftly  followed  in 
the  wake  of  the  storm,  lapping  up  the  moisture  of  the 
drenching  earth  with  its  fiery  tongue,  shed  a  radiance 
over  the  familiar  landscape,  so  that  it  revealed  new  and 
unsuspected  beauties  to  his  wondering  eyes.  How  came 
it  that  the  world,  his  world,  looked  so  fair  ?  The  distant 
hills,  those  hills  which  had  always  thrilled  his  heart  with 
the  sombre  note  of  their  magnificence,  those  hills  which  he 
had  known  since  his  earliest  childhood,  with  their  black, 
awe-inspiring  forests,  they  were  somehow  different,  so 
different. 

He  traced  the  purple  ridges  step  by  step  till  they  became 
a  blurred,  gray  monotony  of  tone  fading  away  until  it  lost 
itself  in  the  glittering  white  of  the  snowcaps.  Everything 
he  beheld  in  a  new  light  No  longer  did  those  hills  rep- 
resent the  battle-ground  where  he  and  the  Padre  fought 
out  their  meagre  existence.  They  had  suddenly  become 
one  vast  and  beautiful  garden  where  life  became  idyllic, 


88  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

where  existence  changed  to  one  long  joy.  The  torrents 
had  shrunk  to  gentle  streams,  babbling  their  wonderful 
way  through  a  fairy-land  of  scented  gardens.  The  old 
forceful  tearing  of  a  course  through  the  granite  hearts  of 
the  hills  was  a  thought  of  some  long-forgotten  age  far  back 
in  the  dim  recesses  of  memory.  The  gloom  of  the  dark- 
ling forests,  too,  had  passed  into  the  sunlit  parks  of 
delight.  The  rugged  canyons  had  given  place  to  verdant 
valleys  of  succulent  pasture.  The  very  snows  themselves, 
those  stupendous,  changeless  barriers,  suggested  nothing 
so  much  as  the  white  plains  of  perfect  life. 

The  old  harsh  lines  of  life  had  passed,  and  the  stern- 
ness of  the  endless  battle  had  given  way  to  an  unaccounta- 
ble joy. 

Every  point  that  his  delighted  eyes  dwelt  upon  was 
tinged  with  something  of  the  beatitude  that  stirred  his 
senses.  Every  step  he  took  was  something  of  an  un- 
reality. And  every  whispering  sound  in  the  scented 
world  through  which  he  was  passing  found  an  echo  of 
music  in  his  dreaming  soul. 

Contact  with  the  yielding  burden  lying  so  passive  in 
his  strong  arms  filled  him  with  a  rapture  such  as  he  had 
never  known.  The  thought  of  sex  was  still  far  from  his 
mind,  and  only  was  the  manhood  in  him  yielding  to  the 
contact,  and  teaching  him  through  the  senses  that  which 
his  upbringing  had  sternly  denied  him. 

He  gazed  down  upon  the  wonderful  pale  beauty  of  the 
girl's  face.  He  saw  the  rich  parted  lips  between  which 
shone  the  ivory  of  her  perfect,  even  teeth.  The  hair,  so 
rich  and  flowing,  dancing  with  glittering  beams  of  golden 
light,  as,  stirring  beneath  the  breath  of  the  mountains,  it 
caught  the  reflection  of  a  perfect  sun. 


A  SIMPLE  MANHOOD  89 

How  beautiful  she  was.  How  delicate.  The  wonderful, 
almost  transparent  skin.  He  could  trace  the  tangle  of 
small  blue  veins  like  a  fairy  web  through  which  flowed  the 
precious  life  that  was  hers.  And  her  eyes — those  great, 
full,  round  pupils  hidden  beneath  the  veil  of  her  deeply- 
fringed  lids  1  But  he  turned  quickly  from  them,  for  he 
knew  that  the  moment  she  awoke  his  dream  must  pass 
into  a  memory. 

His  gaze  wandered  to  the  swanlike  roundness  of  her 
white  throat,  to  the  gaping  shirt-waist,  where  the  delicate 
lace  and  tiny  ribbon  peeped  out  at  him.  It  was  all  so 
wonderful,  so  marvelous.  And  she  was  in  his  arms — 
she,  this  beautiful  stranger.  Yet  somehow  she  did  not 
seem  like  a  stranger.  To  his  inflamed  fancy  she  seemed 
to  have  lain  in  his  arms  all  his  life,  all  her  life.  No,  she 
was  no  stranger.  He  felt  that  she  belonged  to  him,  she 
was  part  of  himself,  his  very  life. 

Still  she  slept  on.  He  suddenly  found  himself  moving 
with  greater  caution,  and  he  knew  he  was  dreading  the 
moment  when  some  foolish  stumble  of  his  should  bring 
her  back  to  that  life  which  he  feared  yet  longed  to  behold. 
He  longed  for  the  delight  of  watching  the  play  of  emotions 
upon  her  lovely  features,  to  hear  her  speak  and  laugh,  and 
to  watch  her  smile.  He  feared,  for  he  knew  that  with  her 
waking  those  delicious  moments  would  be  lost  to  him  for- 
ever. 

So  he  dreamed  on.  In  his  inmost  soul  he  knew  he  was 
dreaming,  and,  in  his  reckless  fashion,  he  desired  the 
dream  to  remain  unending.  He  saw  the  old  fur  fort  no 
longer  the  uncouth  shelter  of  two  lonely  lives,  but  a  home 
made  beautiful  by  a  presence  such  as  he  had  never 
dreamed  of,  a  presence  that  shed  beauty  upon  all  that 


90  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

came  under  the  spell  of  its  influence.  He  pictured  the 
warmth  of  delight  which  must  be  the  man's  who  lived  in 
such  an  atmosphere. 

His  muscles  thrilled  at  the  thought  of  what  a  man  might 
do  under  such  an  inspiration.  To  what  might  he  not 
aspire  ?  To  what  heights  might  he  not  soar  ?  Success 
must  be  his.  No  disaster  could  come  — 

The  girl  stirred  in  his  arms.  He  distinctly  felt  the 
movement,  and  looked  down  into  her  face  with  sudden 
apprehension.  But  his  anxiety  was  swiftly  dispelled,  and 
a  tender  smile  at  once  replaced  the  look  in  his  dark  eyes. 
No,  she  had  not  yet  awakened,  and  so  he  was  content. 

But  the  incident  had  brought  him  realization.  His 
arms  were  stiff  and  cramped,  and  he  must  rest  them. 
Strong  man  that  he  was  he  had  been  wholly  unaware  of 
the  distance  he  had  carried  her. 

He  gently  laid  her  upon  the  grass  and  looked  about 
him.  Then  it  was  that  wonder  crept  into  his  eyes.  He 
was  at  the  ford  of  the  creek,  more  than  two  miles  from 
the  camp,  and  on  the  hither  bank,  where  the  road  entered 
the  water,  a  spring  cart  lay  overturned  and  broken,  with 
the  team  of  horses  lying  head  down,  buried  beneath  the 
turbulent  waters  as  they  raced  on  down  with  the  flood. 

Now  he  understood  the  full  meaning  of  her  presence  in 
the  camp.  His  quick  eyes  took  in  every  detail,  and  at 
once  her  coming  was  explained.  He  turned  back  in  the 
direction  whence  he  had  come,  and  his  mind  flew  to  the 
distance  of  the  ford  from  the  camp.  She  had  bravely 
faced  a  struggle  over  two  miles  of  a  trail  quite  unknown 
to  her  when  the  worst  storm  he  had  ever  known  was  at 
its  height  His  eyes  came  back  to  the  face  of  the  uncon- 
scious girl  in  even  greater  admiration. 


A  SIMPLE  MANHOOD  91 

"  Not  only  beautiful  but " 

He  turned  away  to  the  wreck,  for  there  were  still  things 
he  wished  to  know.  And  as  he  glanced  about  him  he 
became  more  fully  aware  of  the  havoc  of  the  storm.  Even 
in  the  brilliant  sunshine  the  whole  prospect  looked  woe- 
fully jaded.  ^Everywhere  the  signs  told  their  pitiful  tale. 
All  along  the  river  bank  the  torn  and  shattered  pines 
drooped  dismally.  Even  as  he  stood  there  great  tree 
trunks  and  limbs  of  trees  were  washed  down  on  the  flood 
before  his  eyes.  The  banks  were  still  pouring  with  the 
drainings  of  the  hills  and  adding  their  quota  to  the  swell- 
ing torrent. 

But  the  overturned  spring  cart  held  most  interest  just 
now,  and  he  moved  over  to  it.  The  vehicle  was  a  com- 
plete wreck,  so  complete,  indeed,  that  he  wondered  how 
the  girl  had  escaped  without  injury.  Two  trunks  lay  near 
by,  evidently  thrown  out  by  the  force  of  the  upset,  and  it 
pleased  him  to  think  that  they  had  been  saved  to  their 
owner.  He  examined  them  closely.  Yes,  the  contents 
were  probably  untouched  by  the  water.  But  what  was 
this  ?  The  initials  on  the  lid  were  "  J.  S."  The  girl's 
name  was  Rest.  At  least  so  Mrs.  Ransford  had  stated. 
He  wondered.  Then  his  wonder  passed.  These  were 
very  likely  trunks  borrowed  for  the  journey.  He  remem- 
bered that  the  Padre  had  a  leather  grip  with  other  initials 
than  his  own  upon  it. 

Where  was  the  teamster  ?  He  looked  out  at  the  racing 
waters,  and  the  question  answered  itself.  Then  he  turned 
quickly  to  the  girl.  Poor  soul,  he  thought,  her  coming  to 
the  farm  had  been  one  series  of  disasters.  So,  with  an 
added  tenderness,  he  stooped  and  lifted  her  gently  in  his 
arms  and  proceeded  on  his  way 


92  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

At  last  he  came  to  the  farm,  which  only  that  morning 
he  had  so  eagerly  avoided.  And  his  feelings  were  not 
at  all  unpleasant  as  he  saw  again  the  familiar  buildings. 
The  rambling  house  he  had  known  so  long  inspired  him 
with  a  fresh  joy  at  the  thought  of  its  new  occupant.  He 
remembered  how  it  had  grown  from  a  log  cabin,  just  such 
as  the  huts  of  the  gold-seekers,  and  how,  with  joy  and 
pride,  he  and  the  Padre  had  added  to  it  and  reconstructed 
as  the  years  went  by.  He  remembered  the  time  when  he 
had  planted  the  first  wild  cucumber,  which  afterward  be- 
came an  annual  function  and  never  failed  to  cover  the 
deep  veranda  with  each  passing  year.  There,  too,  was 
the  cabbage  patch  crowded  with  a  wealth  of  vegetables. 
And  he  remembered  how  careful  he  had  been  to  select  a 
southern  aspect  for  it.  The  small  barns,  the  hog-pens, 
where  he  could  even  now  hear  the  grunting  swine  grum- 
bling their  hours  away.  The  corrals,  two,  across  the  creek, 
reached  by  a  log  bridge  of  their  own  construction.  Then, 
close  by  stood  the  nearly  empty  hay  corrals,  waiting  for 
this  year's  crop.  No,  the  sight  of  these  things  had  no  re- 
grets for  him  now.  It  was  a  pleasant  thought  that  it  was 
all  so  orderly  and  flourishing,  since  this  girl  was  its  future 
mistress. 

He  reached  the  veranda  before  his  approach  was  real- 
ized by  the  farm-wife  within.     Then,  as  his  footsteps  re 
sounded  on  the  rough  surface  of  the  flooring  of  split  logs, 
Mrs.  Ransford  came  bustling  out  of  the  parlor  door. 

"  Sakes  on  me ! "  she  cried,  as  she  beheld  the  burden  in 
her  visitor's  arms.  "  If  it  ain't  Miss  Rest  all  dead  an' 
done  ! "  Her  red  hands  went  up  in  the  air  with  such  a 
comical  tragedy,  and  her  big  eyes  performed  such  a  wide 
revolution  in  their  fat,  sunburnt  setting  that  Buck  half- 


A  SIMPLE  MANHOOD  93 

feared  an  utter  collapse.  So  he  hurriedly  sought  to  reas- 
sure her,  and  offered  a  smiling  encouragement. 

"  I  allow  she's  mostly  done,  but  I  guess  she's  not  dead," 
he  said  quickly. 

The  old  woman  heaved  a  tragic  sigh. 

"  My  I  but  you  made  me  turn  right  over,  as  the  sayin'  is. 
You  should  ha'  bin  more  careful,  an'  me  with  my  heart 
too,  an'  all.  The  doctor  told  me  as  I  was  never  to  have 
no  shock  to  speak  of.  They  might  set  up  hem — hemo- 
ritch  or  suthin'  o'  the  heart,  what  might  bring  on  sing — 
sing — I  know  it  was  suthin'  to  do  with  singin',  which 
means  I'd  never  live  to  see  another  storm  like  we  just 
had,  not  if  it  sure  come  on  this  minit " 

"I'm  real  sorry,  ma'm,"  said  Buck,  smiling  quietly  at 
the  old  woman's  volubility,  but  deliberately  cutting  it 
short.  "  I  mean  about  the  shock  racket.  Y'  see  she 
needs  fixin'  right,  an'  I  guess  it's  up  to  you  to  git  busy, 
while  I  go  an'  haul  her  trunks  up  from  the  creek." 

Again  the  woman's  eyes  opened  and  rolled. 

"  What  they  doin'  in  the  creek  ?  "  she  demanded  with 
sudden  heat.  "  Who  put  'em  ther'  ?  Some  scallawag, 
I'll  gamble.  An'  you  standin'  by  seein'  it  done,  as  you 
might  say.  I  never  did  see  sech  a  place,  nor  sech  folk. 
To  think  o'  that  pore  gal  a-settin'  watchin'  her  trunks 
bein'  pushed  into  the  creek  by  a  lot  o'  loafin'  bums  o' 
miners,  an'  no  one  honest  enough,  nor  man  enough  to 
raise  a  hand  to — to " 

"  With  respec',  ma'm,  you're  talkin'  a  heap  o'  foolish- 
ness," cried  Buck  impatiently,  his  anxiety  for  the  girl  over- 
coming his  deference  for  the  other's  sex.  "  If  you'll  show 
me  the  lady's  room  I'll  carry  her  right  into  it  an'  set  her 
on  her  bed,  an' " 


94  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  Mercy  alive,  what's  the  world  a-comin'  to  ! "  cried  the 
indignant  farm- wife.  "  Me  let  the  likes  o'  you  into  the 
gal's  bedroom  !  You  ?  Guess  you  need  seein'  to  by  the 
State,  as  the  sayin'  is.  I  never  heard  the  like  of  it. 
Never.  An'  she  jest  a  slip  of  a  young  gal,  too,  an'  all." 

But  Buck's  patience  was  quite  exhausted,  and,  without 
a  moment's  hesitation,  he  brushed  the  well-meaning  but 
voluble  woman  aside  and  carried  the  girl  into  the  house. 
He  needed  no  guidance  here.  He  knew  which  was  the 
best  bedroom  and  walked  straight  into  it.  There  he  laid 
the  girl  upon  an  old  chintz-covered  settee,  so  that  her  wet 
clothes  might  be  removed  before  she  was  placed  into  the 
neat  white  bed  waiting  for  her.  And  the  clacking  tongue 
of  Ma  Ransford  pursued  his  every  movement. 

"  It's  an  insult,"  she  cried  angrily.  "  An  insult  to  me 
an'  mine,  as  you  might  say.  Me,  who's  raised  two 
daughters  an'  one  son,  all  of  'em  dead,  more's  the  pity. 
First  you  drown  the  gal  an'  her  baggage,  an'  then  you 
git  carryin'  her  around,  an'  walkin'  into  her  virgin  bed- 
room without  no  by  your  leave,  nor  nuthin'." 

But  Buck  quite  ignored  her  protests.  He  felt  it  was 
useless  to  explain.  So  he  turned  back  and  gave  his  final 
instructions  from  the  doorway. 

"  You  jest  get  her  right  to  bed,  ma'm,  an*  dose  her,"  he 
said  amiably.  "I'd  guess  you  best  give  her  hot  flannels 
an'  poultices  an'  things  while  I  go  fetch  her  trunks.  After 
that  I'll  send  off  to  Bay  Creek  fer  the  doctor.  He 
ain't  much,  but  he's  better  than  the  hoss  doctor  fer  women- 
folk. Guess  I'll  git  back  right  away." 

But  the  irate  farm-wife,  her  round  eyes  blazing,  slammed 
the  door  in  his  face  as  she  flung  her  final  word  after  him. 

"  You'll  git  back  nuthin',"  she  cried  furiously.     "  You 


A  SIMPLE  MANHOOD  95 

let  me  git  you  back  here  agin  an*  you'll  sure  find  a 
sort  o'  first-class  hell  runnin'  around,  an'  you  won't  need 
no  hot  flannels  nor  poultices  to  ke'p  you  from  freezin' 
stone  cold." 

Then,  with  perfect  calmness  and  astonishing  skill,  she 
flung  herself  to  the  task  of  caring  for  her  mistress  in  that 
practical,  feminine  fashion  which,  though  he  may  ap- 
preciate, no  man  has  ever  yet  quite  understood. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE   HILL 

IT  was  the  morning  following  the  great  storm,  a  perfect 
day  of  cloudless  sunshine,  and  the  Padre  and  Buck  were 
on  their  way  from  the  fur  fort  to  the  camp.  Their  mis- 
sion was  to  learn  the  decision  of  its  inhabitants  as  to  their 
abandonment  of  the  valley  ;  and  in  the  Padre's  pocket  was 
a  large  amount  of  money  for  distribution. 

The  elder  man's  spirits  were  quietly  buoyant.  Nor  did 
there  seem  to  be  much  reason  why  they  should  be.  But 
the  Padre's  moods,  even  to  his  friends,  were  difficult  to 
account  for.  Buck,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  lost  in  a 
reverie  which  held  him  closely,  and  even  tended  to  make 
his  manner  brusque. 

But  his  friend,  in  the  midst  of  his  own  cheerful  feelings, 
would  not  allow  this  to  disturb  him.  Besides,  he  was  a 
far  shrewder  man  than  his  simple  manner  suggested. 

"It's  well  to  be  doing,  lad,"  he  said,  after  some  con- 
siderable silence.  "  Makes  you  feel  good.  Makes  you 
feel  life's  worth  a  bigger  price  than  we  mostly  set 
it  at." 

His  quiet  eyes  took  the  other  in  in  a  quick,  sidelong 
glance.  He  saw  that  Buck  was  steadily,  but  unseeingly, 
contemplating  the  black  slopes  of  Devil's  Hill,  which  now 
lay  directly  ahead. 

"  Guess  you  aren't  feeling  so  good,  boy  ?  "  he  went  on 
after  a  moment's  thoughtful  pause. 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  HILL  97 

The  direct  challenge  brought  a  slow  smile  to  Buck's 
face,  and  he  answered  with  surprising  energy  — 

"  Good  ?  Why,  I'm  feelin'  that  good  I  don't  guess  even 
— even  Beasley  could  rile  me  this  morninV 

The  Padre  nodded  with  a  responsive  smile. 

"  And  Beasley  can  generally  manage  to  rile  you." 

"  Yes,  he's  got  that  way,  surely,"  laughed  Buck  frankly. 
"  Y'  see  he's — he's  pretty  mean." 

"  I  s'pose  he  is,"  admitted  the  other.  Then  he  turned 
his  snow-white  head  and  glanced  down  at  the  lean  flanks 
of  Caesar  as  the  horse  walked  easily  beside  his  mare. 

"  And  that  boy.  Kid,  was  out  in  all  that  storm  on  your 
Caesar,"  he  went  on,  changing  the  subject  quickly  from 
the  man  whom  he  knew  bore  him  an  absurd  animosity. 
"A  pretty  great  horse,  Caesar.  He's  looking  none  the 
worse  for  fetching  that  whisky  either.  Guess  the  boys' 11 
be  getting  over  their  drunk  by  now.  And  it's  probably 
done  'em  a  heap  of  good.  You  did  right  to  encourage 
'em.  Maybe  there's  folks  would  think  differently.  But 
then  they  don't  just  understand,  eh?" 

"  No." 

Buck  had  once  more  returned  to  his  reverie,  and  the 
Padre  smiled.  He  thought  he  understood.  He  had 
listened  overnight  to  a  full  account  of  the  arrival  of  the 
new  owner  of  their  farm,  and  had  gleaned  some  details  of 
her  attractiveness  and  youth.  He  knew  well  enough  how 
surely  the  isolated  mountain  life  Buck  lived  must  have 
left  him  open  to  strong  impressions. 

They  set  their  horses  at  a  canter  down  the  long  declin- 
ing trail  which  ran  straight  into  the  valley  above  which 
Devil's  Hill  reared  its  ugly  head.  And  as  they  went  the 
signs  of  the  storm  lay  everywhere  about  them.  Their 


98  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

path  was  strewn  with  debris.  The  havoc  was  stupen- 
dous. Tree  trunks  were  lying  about  like  scattered  nine- 
pins. Riven  trunks,  split  like  match-wood  by  the  lightning, 
stood  beside  the  trail,  gaunt  and  hopeless.  Partially- 
severed  limbs  hung  drooping,  their  weeping  foliage 
appealing  to  the  stricken  world  about  them  for  a  sympathy 
which  none  could  give.  Even  the  hard,  sun-baked  trail, 
hammered  and  beaten  to  an  iron  consistency  under  a 
hundred  suns  of  summer,  was  scored  with  now  dry  water- 
courses nearly  a  foot  deep.  With  all  his  knowledge  and 
long  experience  of  the  mountains  even  the  Padre  was 
filled  with  awe  at  the  memory  of  what  he  had  witnessed. 

"  Makes  you  think,  Buck,  doesn't  it?"  he  said,  pointing 
at  a  stately  forest  giant  stretched  prone  along  the  edge  of 
the  trail,  its  proud  head  biting  deeply  into  the  earth,  and 
its  vast  roots  lifting  twenty  and  more  feet  into  the  air.  "  I 
was  out  in  the  worst  of  it,  too,"  he  went  on  thoughtfully. 
Then  he  smiled  at  the  recollection  of  his  puny  affairs  while 
the  elements  had  waged  their  merciless  war.  "  I  was  tak- 
ing a  golden  fox  out  of  a  trap,  xway  back  there  on  the  side 
of  the  third  ridge.  While  I  was  doing  it  the  first  two 
crashes  came.  A  hundred  and  more  yards  away  two 
pines,  big  fellers,  guess  they  were  planted  before  the  flood, 
were  standing  out  solitary  on  a  big  rock  overhanging  the 
valley  below.  They  were  there  when  I  first  bent  over  the 
trap.  When  I  stood  up  they  were  gone — rock  and  all. 
It  made  me  think  then.  Guess  it  makes  me  think  more 
now." 

"  It  surely  was  a  storm,"  agreed  Buck  absently. 

They  reached  the  open  valley,  and  here  the  signs  were 
less,  so,  taking  advantage  of  the  clearing,  they  set  their 
horses  at  a  fast  gallop.  Their  way  took  them  skirting  the 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  HILL  99 

great  slope  of  the  hill-base,  and  every  moment  was  bearing 
them  on  toward  the  old  farm,  for  that  way,  some  distance 
beyond,  lay  the  ford  which  they  must  cross  to  reach  the 
camp. 

Neither  seemed  inclined  for  further  talk.  Buck  was 
looking  straight  out  ahead  in  the  direction  of  the  farm, 
and  his  preoccupation  had  given  place  to  a  smile  of 
anticipation.  The  Padre  was  intent  upon  the  black  slopes 
of  the  hill.  Farther  along,  the  hill  turned  away  toward 
the  creek,  and  the  trail  bore  to  the  left,  passing  on  the 
hither  side  of  a  great  blufl  of  woods  which  stretched  right 
up  to  the  very  corrals  of  the  farm.  It  was  here,  too, 
where  the  overhang  of  the  suspended  lake  came  into 
view,  where  Yellow  Creek  poured  its  swift,  shallow 
torrent  in  the  shadowed  twilight  of  the  single-walled 
tunnel  and  the  gold-seekers  held  their  operations  in  a 
vain  quest  of  fortune. 

They  had  just  come  abreast  of  this  point  and  the  Padre 
was  observing  the  hill  with  that  never-failing  interest 
with  which  the  scene  always  filled  him.  He  believed 
there  was  nothing  like  it  in  all  the  world,  and  regarded  it 
as  a  stupendous  example  of  Nature's  engineering.  But 
now,  without  warning,  his  interest  leapt  to  a  pitch  of 
wonderment  that  set  his  nerves  thrilling  and  filled  his 
thoughtful  eyes  with  an  unaccustomed  light  of  excite- 
ment. One  arm  shot  out  mechanically,  pointing  at  the 
black  rocks,  and  a  deep  sigh  escaped  him. 

"  Mackinaw  !  "  he  cried,  pulling  his  horse  almost  on  to 
its  haunches.  "  Look  at  that !  " 

Buck  swung  round,  while  Caesar  followed  the  mare's 
example  so  abruptly  that  his  master  was  almost  flung  out 
of  the  saddle. 


ioo  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

He,  too,  stared  across  in  the  direction  indicated.  And 
his  whispered  exclamation  was  an  echo  of  the  other's 
astonishment. 

"  By  the !  " 

Then  on  the  instant  an  almost  unconscious  movement, 
simultaneously  executed,  set  their  horses  racing  across  the 
open  in  the  direction  of  the  suspended  lake. 

The  powerful  Caesar,  with  his  lighter  burden,  was  the 
first  to  reach  the  spot.  He  drew  up  more  than  two  hun- 
dred yards  from  where  the  domed  roof  forming  the  lake 
bed  hung  above  the  waters  of  the  creek.  He  could 
approach  no  nearer,  and  his  rider  sat  gazing  in  wonder  at 
the  spectacle  of  fallen  rock  and  soil,  and  the  shattered 
magnificence  of  the  acres  of  crushed  and  broken  pine 
woods  which  lay  before  him. 

The  whole  face  of  the  hill  for  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  feet  along  this  side  had  been  ruthlessly  rent  from  its 
place  and  flung  broadcast  everywhere,  and,  in  the  chaos  he 
beheld,  Buck  calculated  that  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
tons  of  the  blackened  rock  and  subsoil  had  been  dis- 
lodged by  the  tremendous  fall. 

Just  for  an  instant  the  word  "  washout "  flashed  through 
his  mind.  But  he  dismissed  it  without  further  considera- 
tion. How  could  a  washout  sever  such  rock  ?  Even  he 
doubted  the  possibility  of  lightning  causing  such  de- 
struction No,  his  thoughts  flew  to  an  earth  disturbance 
of  some  sort.  But  then,  what  of  the  lake?  He  gazed 
up  at  where  the  rocky  arch  jutted  out  from  the  parent 
hill,  and  apprehension  made  him  involuntarily  move  his 
horse  aside.  But  his  observation  had  killed  the  theory  of 
an  earth  disturbance.  Anything  of  that  nature  must 
have  brought  the  lake  down.  For  the  dislodgment  began 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  -H7LL  101 

under  its  very  shadow,  and  had  even  further  deepened 
the  yawning  cavern  beneath  its  bed. ' 

The  Padre's  voice  finally  broke  his  reflections,  and  its 
tone  suggested  that  he  was  far  less  awed,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, his  thoughts  were  far  more  practical. 

"  Their  works  are  gone,"  he  said  regretfully.  "  I'd  say 
there's  not  a  sluice-box  nor  a  conduit  left.  Maybe  even 
their  tools  are  lost.  Poor  devils  ! " 

The  man's  calm  words  had  their  effect.  Buck  at  once 
responded  to  the  practical  suggestion. 

"They  don't  leave  their  tools,"  he  said.  Then  he 
pointed  up  at  the  lake.  "Say,  what  if  that  had  come 
down?  What  if  the  bowels  o'  that  hill  had  opened  up 
an'  the  water  been  turned  loose  ?  What  o'  the  camp  ? 
What  o'  the  women  an' — the  kiddies?" 

His  imagination  had  been  stirred  again.  Again  the 
Padre's  practice  brought  him  back. 

"You  don't  need  to  worry  that  way,  boy.  It  hasn't 
fallen.  Guess  the  earth  don't  fancy  turning  her  secrets 
loose  all  at  once." 

Buck  sighed. 

"Yet  I'd  say  the  luck  sure  seems  rotten  enough." 

There  was  no  answer,  and  presently  the  Padre  pointed 
at  the  face  of  the  hill. 

"  It  was  a  washout,"  he  said  with  quiet  assurance, 
"  See  that  face  ?  It's  sdftish  soil.  Some  sort  of  gravelly 
stuff  that  the  water  got  at.  Sort  of  gravel  seam  in  the 
heart  of  the  rock." 

Buck  followed  the  direction  indicated  and  sat  staring  at 
it.  Then  slowly  a  curious  look  of  hope  crept  into  his 
eyes.  It  was  the  fanciful  hope  of  the  imaginative. 

"Here,"  he  cried  suddenly,  "let's   get  a   peek   at   it 


102  TF1E  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

May  he— maybe  the  juck  ain't  as  bad  as  we  think."  And 
he  laughed. 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  Padre  sharply. 

For  answer  he  had  to  put  up  with  a  curt  "  Come  on." 
And  the  next  moment  he  was  following  in  Caesar's  wake 
as  he  picked  his  way  rapidly  amongst  the  trees  skirting 
the  side  of  the  wreckage.  Their  way  lay  inland  from  the 
creek,  for  Buck  intended  to  reach  the  cliff  face  on  the 
western  side  of  the  fall.  It  was  difficult  going,  but,  at  the 
distance,  safe  enough.  Not  until  they  drew  in  toward 
the  broken  face  of  the  hill  would  the  danger  really  begin. 
There  it  was  obvious  enough  to  anybody.  The  cliff  was 
dangerously  overhanging  at  many  points.  Doubtless  the 
saturation  which  had  caused  the  fall  had  left  many  of 
those  great  projections  sufficiently  loose  to  dislodge  at 
any  moment. 

Buck  sought  out  what  he  considered  to  be  the  most 
available  spot  and  drew  his  horse  up.  The  rest  must  be 
done  on  foot.  No  horse  could  hope  to  struggle  over  such 
a  chaotic  path.  At  his  suggestion  both  animals  were 
tethered  within  the  shelter  of  trees.  At  least  the  trees 
would  afford  some  slight  protection  should  any  more  of 
the  cliff  give  way. 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  stood  a  hundred 
feet  from  the  actual  base  of  the  cliff,  and  Buck  turned  to 
his  friend. 

"  See  that  patch  up  there,"  he  said,  pointing  at  a  spread 
of  reddish  surface  which  seemed  to  be  minutely  studded 
with  white  specks.  "  Guess  a  peek  at  it  won't  hurt. 
Seems  to  me  it's  about  ten  or  twelve  feet  up.  Guess 
ther'  ain't  need  for  two  of  us  climbin'  that  way.  You 
best  wait  right  here,  an'  I'll  git  around  again  after  a  while." 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  HILL  103 

The  Padre  surveyed  the  patch,  and  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Ten  or  twelve  feet  ?  "  he  said  doubtfully.  "  Twenty- 
five." 

"  May  be." 

"  You  think  it's ?  " 

Buck  laughed  lightly. 

"  Can't  say  what  it  is — from  here." 

The  other  sat  down  on  an  adjacent  rock. 

"  Get  right  ahead.     Til  wait" 

Buck  hurried  away,  and  for  some  moments  the  Padre 
watched  his  slim  figure,  as,  scrambling,  stumbling,  cling- 
ing, he  made  his  way  to  where  the  real  climb  was  to  be- 
gin. Nor  was  it  until  he  saw  the  tall  figure  halt  under  an 
overhanging  rock,  which  seemed  to  jut  right  out  over  his 
head,  and  look  up  for  the  course  he  must  take  in  the  final 
climb,  that  Buck's  actual  danger  came  home  to  the  on- 
looker. He  was  very  little  more  given  to  realizing  per- 
sonal danger  than  Buck  himself,  but  now  a  sudden  appre- 
hension for  the  climber  gripped  him  sharply. 

He  stirred  uneasily  as  he  saw  the  strong  hands  reach  up 
and  clutch  the  jutting  facets.  He  even  opened  his  mouth 
to  offer  a  warning  as  he  saw  the  heavily-booted  feet 
mount  to  their  first  foothold.  But  he  refrained.  He 
realized  it  might  be  disconcerting.  A  few  breathless 
moments  passed  as  Buck  mounted  foot  by  foot.  Then 
came  the  thing  the  Padre  dreaded.  The  youngster's 
hold  broke,  and  a  rock  hurtled  by  him  from  under  his 
hand  and  very  nearly  dislodged  him  altogether. 

In  an  instant  the  Padre  was  on  his  feet  with  the  useless 
intention  of  going  to  his  aid,  but,  even  as  he  stood  up,  his 
own  feet  shot  from  under  him,  and  he  fell  back  heavily 
upon  the  rock  from  which  he  had  just  risen. 


104  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

With  an  impatient  exclamation  he  looked  down  to  dis- 
cover the  cause  of  his  mishap.  There  it  lay,  a  loose  stone 
of  yellowish  hue.  He  stooped  to  remove  it,  and,  in  a 
moment,  his  irritation  was  forgotten.  In  a  moment  every- 
thing else  was  forgotten.  Buck  was  forgotten.  The 
peril  of  the  hill.  The  cliff  itself.  For  the  moment  he 
was  lifted  out  of  himself.  Years  had  passed  away,  his 
years  of  life  in  those  hills.  And  something  of  the 
romantic  dreams  of  his  early  youth  thrilled  him  once 
again. 

He  stood  up  bearing  the  cause  of  his  mishap  clasped 
in  his  two  hands  and  stared  down  at  it.  Then,  after  a 
long  while,  he  looked  up  at  the  climbing  man.  He  stood 
there  quite  still,  watching  his  movements  with  unseeing 
eyes.  His  interest  was  gone.  The  danger  had  somehow 
become  nothing  now.  There  was  no  longer  any  thought 
of  the  active  figure  moving  up  the  face  of  the  hill  with 
cat-like  clinging  hands  and  feet.  There  was  no  longer 
thought  for  his  success  or  failure. 

Buck  reached  his  goal.  He  examined  the  auriferous 
facet  with  close  scrutiny  and  satisfaction.  Then  he  began 
the  descent,  and  in  two  minutes  he  stood  once  more  be- 
side the  Padre. 

"It's  high-grade  quartz/'  he  cried  jubilantly  as  he 
came  up. 

The  Padre  nodded,  his  mind  on  other  things. 

"  I'd  say  the  luck's  changed,"  Buck  went  on,  full  of  his 
own  discovery  and  not  noticing  the  other's  abstraction. 
He  was  enjoying  the  thought  of  the  news  he  had  to  con- 
vey to  the  starving  camp.  "  I'd  say  there's  gold  in  plenty 
hereabouts  and  the  washout " 

The  Padre  suddenly  thrust  out  his  two  hands  which 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  HILL  105 

were  still  grasping  the  cause  of  his  discomfiture.  He 
thrust  them  out  so  that  Buck  could  not  possibly  mistake 
the  movement. 

"  There  surely  is — right  here,"  he  said  slowly. 

Buck  gasped.  Then,  with  shining  eyes,  he  took  what 
the  other  was  holding  into  his  own  two  hands. 

"  Gold ! "  he  cried  as  he  looked  down  upon  the  dull 
yellow  mass. 

"  And  sixty  ounces  if  there's  a  pennyweight,"  added  the 
Padre  exultantly.  "  You  see  I — I  fell  over  it,"  he  ex- 
plained, his  quiet  eyes  twinkling. 


CHAPTER  IX 

GATHERING  FOR  THE  FEAST 

T\VO  hours  later  saw  an  extraordinary  change  at  the 
foot  of  Devil's  Hill.  The  wonder  of  the  "  washout  "  had 
passed.  Its  awe  was  no  longer  upon  the  human  mind. 
The  men  of  the  camp  regarded  it  with  no  more  thought 
than  if  the  destruction  had  been  caused  by  mere  blasting 
operations.  They  were  not  interested  in  the  power  caus- 
ing the  wreck,  but  only  in  their  own  motives,  their  own 
greedy  longings,  their  own  lust  for  the  banquet  of  gold 
outspread  before  their  ravening  eyes. 

The  Padre  watched  these  people  his  news  had  brought 
to  the  hill  with  tolerant,  kindly  eye.  He  saw  them  scat- 
tered like  a  small  swarm  of  bees  in  the  immensity  of  the 
ruin  wrought  by  the  storm.  They  had  for  the  time  forgot- 
ten him,  they  had  forgotten  everything  in  the  wild  moment 
of  long-pent  passions  unloosed — the  danger  which  over- 
hung them,  their  past  trials,  their  half-starved  bodies,  their 
recent  sufferings.  These  things  were  thrust  behind  them, 
they  were  of  the  past.  Their  present  was  an  insatiable 
hunger  for  finds  such  as  had  been  thrust  before  their 
yearning  eyes  less  than  an  hour  ago. 

He  stood  by  and  viewed  the  spectacle  with  a  mind  un- 
disturbed, with  a  gentle  philosophy  inspired  by  an  experi- 
ence which  he  alone  could  appreciate.  It  was  a  wonder- 
ful sight.  The  effort,  the  haste,  the  almost  insane  in- 
tentness  of  these  people  seeking  the  yellow  metal,  the  dis- 


GATHERING  FOR  THE  FEAST  107 

covery  of  which  was  the  whole  bounds  of  their  horizon. 
He  felt  that  it  was  good  to  see  them.  Good  that  these 
untamed  passions  should  be  allowed  full  sway.  He  felt 
that  such  as  these  were  the  advance  guard  of  all  human 
enterprise.  Theirs  was  the  effort,  theirs  the  hardship, 
the  risk  ;  and  after  them  would  come  the  trained  mind,  per- 
haps the  less  honest  mind,  the  mind  which  must  harness 
the  result  of  their  haphazard  efforts  to  the  process  of 
civilization's  evolution.  He  even  fancied  he  saw  some- 
thing of  the  influence  of  this  day's  work  upon  the  future 
of  that  mountain  world. 

But  there  was  regret  too  in  his  thought.  It  was  regret 
at  the  impossibility  of  these  pioneers  ever  enjoying  the  full 
fruits  of  their  labors.  They  would  enjoy  them  in  their 
own  way,  at  the  moment,  but  such  enjoyment  was  not 
adequate  reward  for  their  daring,  their  sacrifice,  their 
hardihood.  Well  enough  he  knew  that  they  were  but  the 
toilers  in  a  weed-grown  vineyard,  and  that  it  would  fall 
to  the  lot  of  the  skilled  husbandman  to  be  the  man  who 
reaped  the  harvest. 

It  was  a  picture  that  would  remain  long  enough  in  his 
memory.  The  flaying  picks  rising  and  falling  amongst 
the  looser  debris,  the  grinding  scrape  of  the  shovel,  turning 
again  and  again  the  heavy  red  gravel.  The  shouts  of 
hoarse  voices  hailing  each  other  in  jubilant  tones,  voices 
thrilling  with  a  note  of  hope  such  as  they  had  not  known 
for  weeks.  He  saw  the  hard  muscles  of  sunburnt  arms 
standing  out  rope-like  with  the  terrific  labor  they  were 
engaged  in.  And  in  the  background  of  it  all  he  saw  the 
grim  spectacle  of  the  blackened  hill,  frowning  down  like 
some  evil  monster,  watching  the  vermin  life  eating  into  a 
sore  it  was  powerless  to  protect. 


io3  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

It  was  wonderful,  the  transformation  of  these  things. 
And  yet  it  was  far  less  strange  than  his  witness  of  the 
spectacle  of  the  beaten,  hopeless  men  he  had  helped  so 
long  up  in  the  camp.  He  was  glad. 

He  was  glad,  too,  that  even  Buck  had  been  caught  in 
the  fever  of  the  moment.  He  saw  him  with  the  rest, 
with  borrowed  tools,  working  with  a  vigor  and  enthusiasm 
quite  unsurpassed  by  the  most  ardent  of  the  professional 
gold-seekers.  Yet  he  knew  how  little  the  man  was  tainted 
with  the  disease  of  these  others.  He  had  no  understand- 
ing whatever  of  the  meaning  of  wealth.  And  the  greed 
of  gold  had  left  him  quite  untouched.  His  was  the  virile, 
healthy  enthusiasm  for  a  quest  for  something  which  was 
hidden  there  in  the  wonderful  auriferous  soil,  a  quest  that 
the  heart  of  any  live  man  is  ever  powerless  to  resist. 

With  him  it  would  last  till  sundown,  maybe,  and  after 
that  the  fever  would  pass  from  his  veins.  Then  the  claims  of 
the  life  that  had  always  been  his  would  reassert  themselves. 

After  a  while  the  Padre's  thoughts  drifted  to  the  press- 
ing considerations  of  the  future.  Several  times  he  had 
heard  the  shouts  of  men  who  had  turned  a  nugget  up  in 
the  gravel.  And  at  each  such  cry  he  had  seen  the  rush 
of  others,  and  the  feverish  manner  in  which  they  took 
possession  of  the  spot  where  the  lucky  individual  was 
working  and  hustled  him  out.  It  was  in  these  rushes  that 
he  saw  the  danger  lying  ahead. 

Hitherto  these  men  had  been  accustomed  to  the  slow 
process  of  washing  "  pay-dirt."  It  was  not  only  slow, 
but  unemotional.  It  had  not  the  power  to  stir  the  senses 
to  a  pitch  of  excitement  like  this  veritable  Tom  Tiddler's 
ground,  pitchforked  into  their  very  laps  by  one  of  Nature's 
freakish  impulses. 


GATHERING  FOR  THE  FEAST  109 

With  this  thought  came  something  very  like  regret  at 
the  apparent  richness  of  the  find.  Something  must  be 
done,  and  done  without  delay,  to  regulate  the  situation. 
The  place  must  be  arranged  in  claims,  and  definite  regu- 
lations must  be  laid  down  and  enforced  by  a  council  of 
the  majority.  He  felt  instinctively  that  this  would  be  the 
only  way  to  avert  a  state  of  anarchy  too  appalling  to  con- 
template. It  would  be  an  easy  matter  now,  but  a  hopeless 
task  to  attempt  later  on.  Yes,  a  big  trouble  lay  in  those 
rushes,  which  seemed  harmless  enough  at  present.  And 
he  knew  that  his  must  be  the  work  of  straightening  out 
the  threatened  tangle. 

But  for  the  moment  the  fever  must  be  allowed  to  run 
riot.  It  must  work  itself  out  with  the  physical  effort  of 
hard  muscles.  In  the  calm  of  rest  after  labor  counsel 
might  be  offered  and  listened  to.  But  not  until  then. 

So  that  memorable  day  wore  on  to  its  close.  The  luck 
had  come  not  in  the  petty  find  such  as  these  men  had 
looked  for,  but  in  proportions  of  prodigal  generosity  such 
as  Nature  sometimes  loves  to  bestow  upon  those  whom 
she  has  hit  the  hardest.  She  had  called  to  her  aid  those 
strange  powers  of  which  she  is  mistress  and  hurled  them 
headlong  to  do  her  bidding.  She  had  bestowed  her 
august  consent,  and  lo,  the  earth  was  opened,  and  its 
wealth  poured  out  at  the  very  feet  of  those  who  had  so 
long  and  so  vainly  sought  it. 


CHAPTER  X 

SOLVING  THE   RIDDLE 
/ 

THE  new  owner  of  the  Padre's  farm  had  quite  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  her  disastrous  journey.  Youth  and  a 
sound  constitution,  and  the  overwhelming-  ministrations  of 
Mrs.  Ransford  had  done  all  that  was  needed  to  restore 
her. 

She  was  sitting  in  an  old,  much-repaired  rocking-chair, 
in  what  was  obviously  the  farm's  "  best  "  bedroom.  Her 
trunks,  faithfully  recovered  from  the  wreck  of  the  cart  by 
the  only  too  willing  Buck,  stood  open  on  the  floor  amidst 
a  chaotic  setting  of  their  contents,  while  the  old  farm-wife 
herself  stood  over  them,  much  in  the  attitude  of  a  faithful 
and  determined  watch-dog. 

The  girl  looked  on  indifferent  to  the  confusion  and  to 
the  damage  being  perpetrated  before  her  very  eyes.  She 
was  lost  in  thoughts  of  her  own  which  had  nothing  to  do 
with  such  fripperies  as  lawns,  and  silks,  and  suedes,  or  any 
other  such  feminine  excitements.  She  was  struggling 
with  recollection,  and  endeavoring  to  conjure  it.  There 
was  a  blank  in  her  life,  a  blank  of  some  hours,  which,  try 
as  she  would,  she  could  not  fill  in.  It  was  a  blank,  as  far 
as  she  could  make  out,  which  terminated  in  her  arrival  at 
the  farm  borne  in  the  arms  of  some  strange  man. 

Well  might  such  a  thought  shut  out  considerations  like 
the  almost  certain  destruction  of  a  mere  wardrobe  at  the 


SOLVING  THE  RIDDLE  ill 

hands  of  her  ignorant  but  well-meaning  helper.  It  would 
have  been  exciting,  too,  but  for  her  memory  of  the  latter 
stages  of  her  journey.  They  were  still  painful.  There 
was  still  uncertainty  as  to  what  had  happened  to  the  team- 
ster and  the  horses. 

At  last,  however,  she  abandoned  further  attempt  to 
solve  the  riddle  unaided,  and  decided  to  question  her 
housekeeper. 

"  Was  it  the  same  man  who  brought  those  trunks — I 
mean  the  same  man  who — brought  me  here?"  she  de- 
manded sharply. 

"  It  surely  was/'  replied  Mrs.  Ransford,  desisting  for  a 
moment  from  her  efforts  to  bestow  a  pile  of  dainty  shoes 
into  a  night-dress  case  of  elaborate  drawn  thread  work. 
"  An'  a  nice  mess  he's  got  things  in.  Jest  look  at  'em  all 
tossed  about,  same  as  you  might  toss  slap-jacks,  as  the 
sayin'  is.  It's  a  mercy  of  heaven,  an'  no  thanks  to  him, 
you've  got  a  rag  fit  to  wear.  It  surely  ain't  fer  me  to  say 
it,  but  it's  real  lucky  I'm  here  to  put  things  right  for  you. 
Drat  them  shoes  !  I  don't  guess  I'll  ever  git  'em  all  into 
this  bag,  miss — ma'm — I  mean  miss,  mum." 

Something  of  the  tragedy  of  her  wardrobe  became  evi- 
dent to  the  girl  and  she  went  to  the  rescue. 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  they  don't  go  in  there,"  she  said,  feel- 
ing that  an  apology  was  due  for  her  interference  in  such 
well-intended  efforts.  "  That's — you  see,  that's  my  sleep- 
ing-suit case,"  she  added  gently. 

"  Sleppin'-soot  ? "  A  pair  of  round,  wondering  eyes 
stared  out  through  the  old  woman's  glasses. 

The  girl  pointed  at  the  silk  trousers  and  jacket  lying 
just  inside  the  nearest  trunk,  and  the  farm-wife  picked 
them  up  gingerly,  letting  them  unfold  as  she  did  so.  Just 


112  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

for  one  moment  she  inspected  them,  then  she  hurriedly 
let  them  drop  back  into  the  trunk  as  though  they  were 
some  dangerous  reptile,  and,  folding  her  arms,  glared  into 
the  girl's  smiling  face  in  comical  reproach. 

"You  sure  don't  wear  them  pants,  miss — at  night? 
Not  reely?"  she  exclaimed  in  horrified  tones. 

The  girl's  smile  hardened. 

"  Why,  yes.  Lots  of  girls  wear  sleeping-suits  nowa- 
days." 

"  You  don't  say  ! " 

The  old  woman  pursed  up  her  lips  in  strong  disap- 
proval. Then,  with  a  disdainful  sniff,  she  went  on  — 

44  Wot  gals  ain't  comin'  to  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  Wot 
with  silk  next  their  skin  an'  them  draughty  stockin's,  as 
you  might  say,  things  is  gettin'  to  a  pretty  pass.  Say,  I 
wouldn't  put  myself  into  them  pants,  no,  not  if  the  Presi- 
dent o'  the  United  States  was  to  stand  over  me  an* 
wouldn't  let  me  put  on  nuthin'  else." 

The  girl  refrained  from  reply,  but  the  obvious  impossi- 
bility of  the  feat  appealed  to  her  sense  of  humor.  How- 
ever, the  solution  of  her  riddle  was  of  prevailing  interest, 
so  she  returned  again  to  her  questioning. 

"  Did  he  say  how  he  found  me  ?  "  she  demanded.  *4  Did 
he  tell  you  any — any  particulars  of  what  happened  to  the 
cart,  and — and  the  teamster  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'm — miss,  beggin'  your  pardin, — that  he  didn't. 
I  never  see  sech  a  fresh  feller  outside  a  noospaper  office. 
An'  him  the  owner  of  this  farm  that  was,  but  isn't,  as  you 
might  say.  You  take  my  word  for  it  he'll  come  to  a  bad 
end,  he  sure  will.  Wot  with  them  wicked  eyes  of  his,  an* 
that  black,  Dago-lookin'  hair.  I  never  did  see  a  feller 
who  looked  more  like  a  scallawag  than  him.  Makes  me 


SOLVING  THE  RIDDLE  113 

shiver  to  think  of  him  a-carryin'  you  in  his  two  arms. 
Wher'  from  sez  I — an'  why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  couldn't  walk,  I  expect,"  the  girl  replied 
easily. 

The  farm-wife  shook  a  fat,  warning  finger  at  her. 

"  Oh,  ma'm — miss — that's  wot  he  saysl  You  jest  wait 
till  you've  got  more  experience  o'  scallawags  like  him  an* 
you'll  sure  know.  Wot  I  sez  is  men's  that  full  o'  tricks 
wher'  females  is  to  be  deceived  it  'ud  take  'em  a  summer 
vacation  sortin'  'emselves  out.  Men  is  shockin'  scalla- 
wags," she  finished  up,  flinging  the  shoes  pell-mell  into 
the  open  trunk. 

A  further  rescue  of  her  property  was  necessary  and  the 
girl  protested. 

"  Please  don't  bother  any  more  with  those  clothes,"  she 
cried  hurriedly.  "  I'll  see  to  them  myself."  Then,  as  the 
woman  proceeded  to  mop  her  perspiring  brow  with  a  pair 
of  silk  stockings,  she  sprang  up  and  thrust  a  hand-towel 
toward  her.  "  Use  this  ;  you'll  find  it  more  absorbent  than 
— er— silk." 

The  old  woman  thanked  her  profusely,  and  made  the 
exchange.  And  when  the  operation  was  completed  the 
relieved  girl  returned  to  her  seat  and  went  on  with  her 
examination. 

"  What  did  you  say  his  name  was  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  say.  An'  he  didn't  tell  me,  neither.  Fellers 
like  him  ain't  never  ready  with  their  names.  Maybe  he 
calls  himself  Moreton  Kenyon.  Y'  see  he  was  the  same 
as  handed  the  farm  over,  an'  you  toP  me,  back  ther'  in 
Leeson  Butte,  you'd  bo't  Moreton  Kenyon's  farm.  *  More- 
ton  Kenyon  ! '  Sort  o1  high-soundin'  name  for  such  a 
scallawag.  I  don't  never  trust  high-soundin'  names. 


Ii4  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

They're  most  like  whitewash.  You  allus  set  that  sort  o' 
stuff  on  hog-pens  an'  sech,  as  you  might  say." 

"  Perhaps  he's  not  as  bad  as  you  suspect,"  the  girl  sug- 
gested kindly.  "  Lots  of  good  people  start  by  making  a 
bad  impression." 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  means,"  cried  the  other 
promptly.  "  But  I  do  know  what  a  scallawag  is,  an'  that's 
him." 

It  was  useless  to  seek  further  information  from  such  a 
source,  so  the  girl  abandoned  the  attempt,  and  dismissed 
the  pig-headed  housekeeper  to  her  work,  work  which  she 
felt  she  was  far  better  suited  to  than  such  a  delicate  oper- 
ation as  the  straightening  out  a  wardrobe. 

When  Mrs.  Ransford  had  taken  her  unwilling  depar- 
ture, not  without  several  well-meaning  protests,  the  girl 
bent  her  own  energies  to  restoring  order  to  her  wardrobe. 
Nor  was  it  an  easy  task.  The  masculine  manner  of  the 
bedroom  left  much  to  be  desired  in  those  little  deposi- 
tories and  cupboards,  without  which  no  woman  can  live 
in  comfort.  And  during  the  process  of  disposing  her  be- 
longings many  mental  notes  were  made  for  future  altera- 
tions in  the  furnishings  of  her  new  abode. 

It  was  not  a  bad  room,  however.  The  simplicity  and 
cleanliness  of  it  struck  wholesomely  upon  her.  Yes,  in 
spite  of  what  her  lieutenant  had  said  about  him,  Mr. 
Moreton  Kenyon  was  certainly  a  man  of  some  refinement. 
She  had  never  heard  that  such  neatness  and  cleanliness 
was  the  habit  amongst  small  bachelor  farmers  in  the  out- 
lands  of  the  West.  And  this  was  the  man  who  had  car- 
ried her — where  from  ? 

Again  she  sat  down  in  the  rocker  and  gave  herself  up 
to  the  puzzlement  of  those  hours  of  her  unconsciousness. 


SOLVING  THE  RIDDLE  115 

The  last  event  that  was  clear  in  her  mind  was  the  struggle 
of  the  teamster  to  keep  his  horses  head-on  for  the  bank 
of  the  flooded  river.  She  remembered  the  surging  waters, 
she  remembered  that  the  bottom  of  the  cart  was  awash, 
and  that  she  sat  with  her  feet  lifted  and  resting  on  the 
side  of  the  vehicle.  She  remembered  that  the  horses  were 
swimming  before  the  driver's  flogging  whip  and  blasphe- 
mous shoutings.  All  this  was  plain  enough  still.  Then 
came  the  man's  order  to  herself.  He  warned  her  to  get 
ready  to  jump,  and  she  had  been  quick  to  realize  the  ne- 
cessity. In  spite  of  the  horses'  wildest  struggles  the  cart 
was  being  washed  down-stream.  Then  had  come  his 
final  shout.  And  she  had  jumped  on  the  instant. 

At  this  point  of  her  recollections  things  became  confused. 
She  had  a  hazy  memory  of  floundering  in  the  water,  also 
she  remembered  a  heavy  blow  on  the  shoulder.  Then 
some  one  seemed  to  seize  hold  of  her.  It  must  have  been 
the  teamster,  though  she  did  not  remember  seeing  him  in 
the  water.  How  she  got  out  was  a  mystery  to  her. 
Again  it  must  have  been  the  teamster.  Then  what  of 
him  ?  Mrs.  Ransford  had  not  spoken  of  him.  Had  he, 
too,  escaped  ?  or  had  he — she  shuddered.  For  some  mo- 
ments her  thoughts  depressed  her.  The  thought  of  a 
brave  man's  life  sacrificed  for  her  was  too  terrible. 

But  after  a  while  she  continued  in  a  lighter  strain.  It 
was  at  this  point  that  the  blank  began.  True,  she  seemed 
to  have  some  dim  recollection  of  a  rough  hut.  It  seemed 
to  be  made  of  logs.  Then,  too,  she  had  a  dreamy  sort  of 
cognizance  of  a  number  of  men's  voices  talking.  Then — 
no,  there  was  nothing  more  after  that.  Nothing  until  she 
awoke  and  found  herself  in  bed,  with  a  strange  doctor 
standing  over  her. 


n6  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

It  was  all  very  puzzling,  but — she  turned  toward  the 
window  as  the  afternoon  sun  fell  athwart  it  and  lit  the 
plain  interior  of  her  new  bedroom,  searching  the  corners 
and  the  simple  furnishings  of  the  carpetless  room. 

From  where  she  sat  she  could  see  the  barns  and  corrals, 
and  beyond  them  the  heavy-hued  pine  woods  Then, 
away  out  far,  far  in  the  distance,  the  endless  white  snow- 
caps  of  the  purpling  hills.  What  a  scene  to  her  unaccus- 
tomed eyes.  The  breadth  of  it.  The  immensity. 

She  drew  a  deep  breath  and  sat  up. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  simple  white  shirt-waist  and  blue 
serge  skirt,  and  her  masses  of  red-gold  hair  were  loosely 
coiled  about  her  well-shaped  head.  The  eager  light  of 
interest  in  her  violet  eyes  lit  her  beautiful  young  face, 
lending  it  an  animation  which  added  a  wonderful  vitality 
to  her  natural  beauty.  The  firm,  rich  lips  were  parted 
eagerly.  The  wide-open  eyes,  so  deeply  intelligent,  shone 
with  a  lustre  of  delight  there  was  no  mistaking.  Her 
rounded  bosom  rose  and  fell  rapidly  as  the  glad  thought 
flew  through  her  brain  that  this — this  was  her  new  home, 
where  she  was  to  forget  the  past  and  shut  out  all  recollec- 
tion of  that  evil  shadow  which  had  so  long  pursued 
her. 

Yes,  this  was  the  beginning  of  her  new  life.  Joan  Stan- 
more  was  dead,  and  out  of  the  ashes  had  arisen  Joan 
Rest,  ready  to  face  the  world  in  a  spirit  of  well-doing 
bachelorhood.  Here,  here  in  the  wild  mountain  world, 
where  men  were  few  and  apart  from  her  old  life,  she  could 
face  the  future  with  perfect  confidence. 

She  breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  contentment  and  lolled 
back  in  the  rocker,  dropping  her  eyes  from  the  snow- 
crowned  hills  to  the  precious  little  farm  that  was  all  hers. 


SOLVING  THE  RIDDLE  117 

Then,  in  an  instant,  she  sat  up  again  as  the  tall  figure  of 
a  young  man  appeared  round  the  corner  of  the  barn 

For  some  moments  she  followed  his  movements  wonder- 
ingly.  He  walked  straight  over  to  the  hay  corral  with 
long,  easy  strides.  There  was  none  of  the  slouch  of  a 
man  idling  about  him.  His  whole  attitude  was  full  of 
distinct  purpose.  She  saw  him  enter  the  corral  and  mount 
the  half-cut  haystack,  and  proceed  to  cut  deeper  into  it 
A  moment  later  he  pitched  the  loose  hay  to  the  ground, 
and  himself  slid  down  on  to  it.  Then,  stooping,  he  gath- 
ered it  in  his  arms  and  left  the  corral. 

Now  she  saw  his  face  for  the  first  time.  It  was  dark. 
Nor  could  she  be  certain  that  his  coloring  was  due  to 
sunburn.  His  eyes  were  dark,  too,  and  his  hair.  He  was 
a  good-looking  man,  she  decided,  and  quite  young.  But 
how  tall.  And  what  shoulders.  She  wondered  who  he 
was,  and  what  he  was  doing  on  her  farm. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  she  remembered  she  had  spoken  of 
a  hired  man  to  Mrs.  Ransford.  Had  she ? 

Her  reflections  were  cut  short  by  the  sudden  appear- 
ance of  the  farm-wife  from  the  house.  The  old  woman 
trotted  hastily  across  the  yard  toward  the  barn,  her  fat 
sides  shaking  as  she  waddled,  and  her  short,  stout  arms 
violently  gesticulating.  Joan  needed  nothing  more  than 
the  good  woman's  back  view  to  tell  her  that  the  dame  was 
very  angry,  and  that  it  was  the  stranger  who  had  inspired 
her  wrath.  She  waited,  smiling,  for  the  denouement. 

It  came  quickly.  It  came  with  the  reappearance  of  the 
stranger  round  the  corner  of  the  barn.  What  a  splendid 
specimen  of  a  man,  she  thought,  as  she  watched  the  ex- 
pression of  unruffled  calm  on  his  strong  features.  His 
shirt  sleeves  were  rolled  well  up  above  his  elbows,  and 


u8  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

even  at  that  distance  she  could  see  the  deep  furrows  in 
his  arms  where  the  rope-like  muscles  stood  out  beneath 
the  thin,  almost  delicate  skin. 

But  her  attention  was  quickly  diverted  by  the  clacking 
of  the  farm-wife's  tongue.  She  could  hear  it  where  she 
sat  with  the  window  tight  shut.  And  though  she  could 
not  hear  the  words  it  was  plain  enough  from  the  violence 
of  her  gesticulations  that  she  was  rating  the  patient  man 
soundly.  So  patent  was  it,  so  dreadful,  that  even  in  her 
keenest  interest  Joan  found  herself  wondering  if  Mr. 
Ransford  were  dead,  and  hoping  that,  if  he  were,  his  de- 
cease had  occurred  in  early  youth. 

Nor  had  the  man  made  any  attempt  at  response.  She 
was  sure  of  it,  because  she  had  watched  his  firm  lips,  and 
they  had  not  moved.  Perhaps  he  had  found  retort  im- 
possible. It  was  quite  possible,  for  the  other  had  not 
paused  a  moment  in  her  tirade.  What  a  flow.  It  was 
colossal,  stupendous.  Joan  felt  sorry  for  the  man. 

What  a  patience  he  had.  Nor  had  his  expression  once 
altered.  He  merely  displayed  the  thoughtful  attention 
that  one  might  bestow,  listening  to  a  brilliant  conversa* 
tionalist  or  an  interesting  story.  It  was  too  ridiculous, 
and  Joan  began  to  laugh. 

Then  the  end  came  abruptly  and  without  warning. 
Mrs.  Ransford  just  swung  about  and  trotted  furiously  back 
to  the  house.  Her  face  was  flaming,  and  her  fat  arms, 
flourishing  like  unlimber  flails,  were  pointing  every  verbal 
threat  she  hurled  over  her  shoulder  at  the  spot  where  the 
man  had  stood.  Yes,  he  had  vanished  again  round  the 
corner  of  the  barn,  and  the  poor  woman's  best  efforts  were 
quite  lost  upon  the  warm  summer  air. 

But  her  purpose  was  obvious,  and  Joan  prepared  her- 


SOLVING  THE  RIDDLE  119 

self  for  a  whirlwind  visitation.  Nor  had  she  long-  to  wait. 
There  was  a  shuffling  of  feet  out  in  the  passage,  and,  the 
next  moment,  the  door  of  her  room  was  unceremoniously 
flung  open  and  the  indignant  woman  staggered  in. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  impidence,  of  all  the  sass,  of  all  the 

ignorant  bums  that  ever  I ! "  She  exploded,  and 

stood  panting  under  the  strain  of  her  furious  emotions. 

But  Joan  felt  she  really  must  assert  herself.  This  sort 
of  reign  of  terror  must  not  go  on. 

"  Don't  fluster  yourself,  Mrs.  Ransford,"  she  said  calmly. 
"  I'll  see  to  the  matter  myself." 

But  she  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  stem  the  tide 
of  the  river  that  had  wrecked  her  journey  as  stay  the  irate 
woman's  tongue. 

"  But  it's  him ! "  she  cried.  "  Him,  that  low-down 
scallawag  that  carried  you  in  his  arms  an'  walked  right 
into  this  yere  bedroom  an'  laid  you  on  your  own  virgin 
bed  without  no  by  your  leave  nor  nuthin'.  Him,  as  saw 
your  trunks  drownded  an'  you  all  mussed  up  with  water, 
without  raisin'  a  hand  to  help,  'less  it  was  to  push  you 
further  under " 

But  Joan  was  equal  to  no  more.  She  pushed  the  well- 
meaning  creature  on  one  side  and  hurried  out  of  the 
house,  while  the  echoes  of  the  other's  scathing  indictment 
died  down  behind  her. 

Joan  did  not  hesitate.  It  was  not  her  way  to  hesitate 
about  anything  when  her  mind  was  made  up.  And  just 
now  she  was  determined  to  find  out  the  real  story  of  what 
had  happened  to  her.  She  was  interested.  This  man 
had  carried  her.  He  had  brought  her  trunks  up.  And — 
yes,  she  liked  the  look  of  him. 

But  she  felt  it  necessary  to  approach  the  matter  with 


120  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

becoming  dignity.  She  was  not  given  much  to  standing 
on  her  dignity,  but  she  felt  that  in  her  association  with 
the  men  of  these  parts  she  must  harden  herself  to  it  All 
friendships  with  men  were  banned.  This  she  was  quite 
decided  upon.  And  she  sighed  as  she  passed  round  the 
angle  of  the  barn. 

Her  sigh  died  at  its  birth,  however,  and  she  was  brought 
to  a  short  and  terrified  halt.  Two  prongs  of  a  hayfork 
gleamed  viciously  within  three  inches  of  her  horrified 
eyes,  and,  behind  them,  with  eyes  no  less  horrified,  stood 
the  dark-haired  stranger. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST 

THE  gleaming  prongs  of  the  fork  were  sharply  with- 
drawn, and  a  pleasant  voice  greeted  the  girl. 

"  Guess  that  was  a  near  thing,"  it  said  half-warningly. 

Joan  had  started  back,  but  at  the  sound  of  the  voice 
she  quickly  recovered  herself. 

"It  was,"  she  agreed.  Then  as  she  looked  into  the 
smiling  eyes  of  the  stranger  she  began  to  laugh. 

"  Another  inch  an'  more  an'  you'd  sure  have  been  all 
mussed  up  on  that  pile  of  barn  litter,"  he  went  on,  join- 
ing in  her  laugh. 

"  I  s'pose  I  should,"  Joan  nodded,  her  mirth  promptly 
sobering  to  a  broad  smile. 

She  had  almost  forgotten  her  purpose  so  taken  up  was 
she  in  observing  this  "  scallawag,"  as  Mrs.  Ransford  had 
called  him.  Nor  did  it  take  her  impressionable  nature 
more  than  a  second  to  decide  that  her  worthy  house- 
keeper was  something  in  the  nature  of  a  thoroughly 
stupid  woman.  She  liked  the  look  of  him.  She  liked 
his  easy  manner.  More  than  all  she  liked  the  confident 
look  of  his  dark  eyes  and  his  sunburnt  face,  so  full  of 
strength. 

11  Hayforks  are  cussed  things  anyway,''  the  man  said, 
flinging  the  implement  aside  as  though  it  had  offended 
him. 


122  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Joan  watched  him.  She  was  wondering  how  best  to 
approach  the  questions  in  her  mind.  Somehow  they  did 
not  come  as  easily  as  she  had  anticipated.  It  was  one 
thing  to  make  up  her  mind  beforehand,  and  another  to 
put  her  decision  into  execution.  He  was  certainly  not 
the  rough,  uncouth  man  she  had  expected  to  find.  True, 
his  language  was  the  language  of  the  prairie,  and  his 
clothes,  yes,  they  surely  belonged  to  his  surroundings, 
but  there  was  none  of  the  uncleanness  about  them  she 
had  anticipated. 

It  was  his  general  manner,  however,  that  affected  her 
chiefly.  How  tall  and  strong  he  was,  and  the  wonderful 
sunburn  on  his  clean-cut  face  and  massive  arms  !  Then 
he  had  such  an  air  of  reserve.  No,  it  was  not  easy. 

Finally,  she  decided  to  temporize,  and  wait  for  an 
opening.  And  in  that  she  knew  in  her  heart  she  was 
yielding  to  weakness. 

"  My  housekeeper  tells  me  it  was  you  who  handed  the 
farm  over  to  her  ! "  she  said  interrogatively. 

The  man's  eyes  began  to  twinkle  again. 

"  Was  that  your — housekeeper?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes— Mrs.  Ransford." 

Joan  felt  even  less  at  her  ease  confronted  by  those 
twinkling  eyes. 

"  She's  a — bright  woman." 

The  man  casually  picked  up  a  straw  and  began  to 
chew  it. 

Joan  saw  that  he  was  smiling  broadly,  and  resented  it. 
So  she  threw  all  the  dignity  she  could  summon  into  her 
next  question. 

"  Then  you  must  be  Mr.  Moreton  Kenyon  !  "  she  said. 

The  man  shook  his  head. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST  123 

"  Wrong.     That's  the  '  Padre,'  "  he  announced  curtly, 

Joan  forgot  her  resentment  in  her  surprise. 

"  The  *  Padre '  !  Why,  I  thought  Mr.  Kenyon  was  a 
farmer!" 

The  man  nodded. 

"  So  he  is.  You  see  folks  call  him  Padre  because  he's 
a  real  good  feller,"  he  explained.  Then  he  added  :  "  He's 
got  white  hair,  too.  A  whole  heap  of  it.  That  sort  o' 
clinched  it." 

The  dark  eyes  had  become  quite  serious  again.  There 
was  even  a  tender  light  in  them  as  he  searched  the  girl's 
fair  face.  He  was  wondering  what  was  yet  to  come. 
He  was  wondering  how  this  interview  was  to  bear  on  the 
future.  In  spite  of  his  easy  manner  he  dreaded  lest  the 
threats  of  Mrs.  Ransford  were  about  to  be  put  into 
execution. 

Joan  accepted  his  explanation. 

"  I  see,"  she  said.  Then,  after  a  pause  :  "  Then  who 
are  you  ?  " 

"Me?  Oh,  I'm  'Buck,'"  he  responded,  with  a  short 
laugh. 

"Buck— who?" 

"  Jest  plain  « Buck/  "     Again  came  that  short  laugh. 

"  Mr.  Kenyon's  son  ?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head,  and  Joan  tried  again. 

"  His  nephew  ?  " 

Again  came  that  definite  shake.  Joan  persisted,  but 
with  growing  impatience. 

"  Perhaps  you're — his  partner  ? "  she  said,  feeling 
that  if  he  again  shook  his  head  she  must  inevitably  shake 
him. 

But  she  was  spared  a  further  trial.     Buck  had  been 


124  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

quick  to  realize  her  disappointment.  Nor  had  he  any 
desire  to  inspire  her  anger.  On  the  contrary,  his  one 
thought  was  to  please  and  help  her. 

"  You  see  we're  not  related.  Ther's  nuthin'  between  us 
but  that  he's  jest  my  great  big  friend,"  he  explained. 

His  reward  came  promptly  in  the  girl's  sunny  smile. 
And  the  sight  of  it  quickened  his  pulses  and  set  him  long- 
ing to  hold  her  again  in  his  arms  as  he  had  done  only 
yesterday.  Somehow  she  had  taken  a  place  in  his 
thoughts  which  left  him  feeling  very  helpless.  He  never 
remembered  feeling  helpless  before.  It  was  as  though 
her  coming  into  his  life  had  robbed  him  of  all  his  confi- 
dence. Yesterday  he  had  found  a  woman  almost  in  rags. 
Yesterday  she  was  in  trouble,  and  it  had  seemed  the 
simplest  thing  in  the  world  for  him  to  take  her  in  his 
arms  and  carry  her  to  the  home  he  knew  to  be  hers. 
Now — now,  all  that  confidence  was  gone.  Now  an 
indefinable  barrier,  but  none  the  less  real,  had  been  raised 
between  them.  It  was  a  barrier  he  felt  powerless  to  break 
down.  This  beautiful  girl,  with  her  deep  violet  eyes  and 
wonderful  red-gold  hair,  clad  in  her  trim  costume  of  lawn 
and  serge,  seemed  to  him  like  a  creature  from  an  un- 
dreamed-of world,  and  as  remote  from  him  as  if 
thousands  of  miles  separated  them.  He  sighed  as  Joan 
went  on  with  her  examination  — 

"  I  suppose  you  have  come  to  fetch  some  of  your  big 
friend's  belongings  ?  "  she  said  pleasantly. 

For  answer  Buck  suddenly  flung  out  a  protecting 
arm. 

"  Say,  you're  sure  getting  mussed  with  that  dirty  litter,'' 
he  said  almost  reproachfully.  "  See,  your  fixin's  are  right 
agin  it.  Say " 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST  125 

Joan  laughed  outright  at  his  look  of  profound  concern. 

"  That  doesn't  matter  a  bit,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  must 
get  used  to  being  '  mussed-up.'  You  see,  I'm  a  farmer — 
now." 

The  other's  concern  promptly  vanished.  He  loved  to 
hear  her  laugh. 

"  You  never  farmed  any  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Never."  Joan  shook  her  head  in  mock  serious- 
ness. "  Isn't  it  desperate  of  me  ?  No,  I'm  straight  from 
a  city." 

Buck  withdrew  his  gaze  from  her  face  and  glanced  out 
at  the  hills.  But  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  His  eyes 
came  back  as  though  drawn  by  a  magnet. 

"  Guess  you'll  likely  find  it  dull  here — after  a  city,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  Y'  see,  it's  a  heap  quiet.  It  ain't  quiet  to 
me,  but  then  I've  never  been  to  a  city — unless  you  call 
Leeson  Butte  a  city.  Some  folks  feel  lonesome  among 
these  big  hills." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  feel  lonesome,"  Joan  said 
quickly.  "  The  peace  and  quiet  of  this  big  world  is  all  I 
ask.  I  left  the  city  to  get  away  from — oh,  from  the 
bustle  of  it  all !  Yes,  I  want  the  rest  and  quiet  of  these 
hills  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world." 

The  passionate  longing  in  her  words  left  Buck  wonder- 
ing. But  he  nodded  sympathetically. 

"  I'd  say  you'd  get  it  right  here,"  he  declared.  Then 
he  turned  toward  the  great  hills,  and  a  subtle  change 
seemed  to  come  over  his  whole  manner.  His  dark  eyes 
wore  a  deep,  far-away  look  in  which  shone  a  wonderfully 
tender  affection.  It  was  the  face  of  a  man  who,  perhaps 
for  the  first  time,  realizes  the  extent  and  depth  of  his  love 
for  the  homeland  which  is  his. 


126  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  It's  big — big/'  he  went  on,  half  to  himself.  "  It's  so 
big  it  sometimes  makes  me  wonder.  Look  at  'em,"  he 
cried,  pointing  out  at  the  purpling  distance,  "  rising  step 
after  step  till  it  don't  seem  they  can  ever  git  bigger.  An' 
between  each  step  there's  a  sort  of  world  different  from 
any  other.  Each  one's  hidden  all  up,  so  pry  in'  eyes  can't 
see  into  'em.  There's  life  in  those  worlds,  all  sorts  of  life. 
An'  it's  jest  fightin',  lovin',  dyin',  eatin',  sleepin',  same  as 
everywhere  else.  There's  a  big  story  in  'em  some- 
where— a  great  big  story.  An'  it's  all  about  the  game  of 
life  goin'  on  in  there,  jest  the  same  as  it  does  here,  an' 
anywher'.  Yes,  it's  a  big  story  and  hard  to  read  for 
most  of  us.  Guess  we  don't  ever  finish  readin'  it,  any- 
way— until  we  die.  Don't  guess  they  intended  us  to. 
Don't  guess  it  would  be  good  for  us  to  read  it  easy." 

He  turned  slowly  from  the  scene  that  meant  so  much  to 
him,  and  smiled  into  Joan's  astonished  eyes. 

"  An'  you're  goin'  to  git  busy — readin'  that  story  ?  "  he 
asked. 

The  startled  girl  found  herself  answering  almost  before 
she  was  aware  of  it. 

"  I — I  hope  to,"  she  said  simply. 

Then  she  suddenly  realized  her  own  smallness.  She 
felt  almost  overpowered  with  the  bigness  of  what  the  man's 
words  had  shown  her.  It  was  wonderful  to  her  the 
thought  of  this — this  "  scallawag."  The  word  flashed 
through  her  mind,  and  with  it  came  an  even  fuller  realiza- 
tion of  Mrs.  Ransford's  stupidity.  The  man's  thought 
was  the  poet's  insight  into  Nature's  wonderlands.  He 
was  speaking  of  that  great  mountain  world  as  though  it 
were  a  religion  to  him,  as  if  it  represented  some  treasured 
poetic  ideal,  or  some  lifelong,  priceless  friendship. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST  127 

She  saw  his  answering  nod  of  sympathy,  and  sighed 
her  relief.  Just  for  one  moment  she  had  been  afraid. 
She  had  been  afraid  of  some  sign  of  pity,  even  contempt. 
She  felt  her  own  weakness  without  that.  Now  she  was 
glad,  and  went  on  with  more  confidence. 

"  I'm  going  to  start  from  the  very  beginning,"  she  said, 
with  something  akin  to  enthusiasm.  "  I'm  going  to  start 
here — right  here,  on  my  very  own  farm.  Surely  the  rudi- 
ments must  lie  here — the  rudiments  that  must  be  mastered 
before  the  greater  task  of  reading  that  story  is  begun." 
She  turned  toward  the  blue  hills,  where  the  summer  clouds 
were  wrapped  about  the  glistening  snowcaps.  "  Yes,"  she 
cried,  clasping  her  hands  enthusiastically,  "  I  want  to  learn 
it  all — all."  Suddenly  she  turned  back  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  wonderful,  smiling  simplicity.  "  Will  you  help 
me  ? "  she  said  eagerly.  "  Perhaps — in  odd  moments  ? 
Will  you  help  me  with  those — lessons?" 

Buck's  breath  came  quickly,  and  his  simple  heart  was 
set  thumping  in  his  bosom.  But  his  face  was  serious,  and 
his  eyes  quite  calm  as  he  nodded. 

"  It'll  be  dead  easy  for  you  to  learn,"  he  said,  a  new 
deep  note  sounding  in  his  voice.  "  You'll  learn  anything 
I  know,  an'  much  more,  in  no  time.  You  can't  help  but 
learn.  You'll  be  quicker  to  understand,  quicker  to  feel  all 
those  things.  Y'  see  I've  got  no  sort  of  cleverness — nor 
nuthin'.  I  jest  look  around  an'  see  things — an'  then,  then 
I  think  I  know."  He  laughed  quietly  at  his  own  conceit. 
"  Oh,  yes  !  sometimes  I  guess  I  know  it  all.  An'  then  I 
get  sorry  for  folks  that  don't,  an'  I  jest  wonder  how  it 
comes  everybody  don't  understand — same  as  me.  Then 
something  happens." 

"  Yes,  yes." 


128  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Joan  was  so  eager  she  felt  she  could  not  wait  for  the 
pause  that  followed.  Buck  laughed. 

"  Something  happens,  same  as  it  did  yesterday,"  he 
went  on.  "  Oh,  it's  big — it  sure  is  ! "  he  added.  And  he 
turned  again  to  his  contemplation  of  the  hills. 

But  Joan  promptly  recalled  his  wandering  attention. 

"  You  mean — the  storm  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Buck  nodded. 

"  That— an'  the  other," 

"  What— other  ?  " 

"  The  washout,"  he  said. 

Then,  as  he  saw  the  look  of  perplexity  in  the  wide  violet 
eyes,  he  went  on  to  explain  — 

"You  ain't  heard?  Why,  there  was  a  washout  on 
Devil's  Hill,  where  for  nigh  a  year  they  bin  lookin'  for 
gold.  Y'  see  they  knew  the  gold  was  there,  but  couldn't 
jest  locate  it.  For  months  an'  months  they  ain't  seen  a 
sign  o'  color.  They  bin  right  down  to  *  hard  pan.'  They 
wer'  jest  starvin'  their  lives  clear  out.  But  they'd  sank 
the'r  pile  in  that  hill,  an'  couldn't  bring  'emselves  to  quit. 
Then  along  comes  the  storm,  an'  right  wher'  they're  work- 
ing it  washes  a  great  lump  o'  the  hill  down.  Hundreds  o' 
thousands  o'  tons  of  rock  an'  stuff  it  would  have  needed  a 
train  load  of  dynamite  to  shift." 

"  Yes,  yes."  Joan's  eagerness  brought  her  a  step  nearer 
to  him.  "And  they  found " 

"  Gold  ! "     Buck  laughed.     "  Lumps  of  it." 

"  Gold — in  lumps  !  "  The  girl's  eyes  widened  with  an 
excitement  which  the  discovery  of  the  precious  metal  ever 
inspires. 

The  man  watched  her  thoughtfully. 

"  Why  aren't  you  there  ?  "  Joan  demanded  suddenly. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST  129 

"  Can't  jest  say."  Buck  shrugged.  "  Maybe  it's  be- 
cause they  bin  lookin'  fer  gold,  an' — wal,  I  haven't." 

"  Gold — in  lumps  ! "  Again  came  the  girl's  amazed 
exclamation,  and  Buck  smiled  at  her  enthusiasm. 

"  Sure.  An'  they  kind  o'  blame  you  for  it.  They  sort 
o'  fancy  you  brought  'em  their  luck.  Y'  see  it  came  when 
you  got  around  their  hut.  They  say  ther'  wasn't  no  luck 
to  the  place  till  you  brought  it.  An'  now " 

Joan's  eyes  shone. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad.     I'm  so  glad  I've  brought  them " 

But  her  expression  of  joy  was  never  completed.  She 
broke  ofl  with  a  sharp  ejaculation,  and  the  color  died  out 
of  her  cheeks,  leaving  her  so  ghastly  pale  that  the  man 
thought  she  was  about  to  faint.  She  staggered  back  and 
leant  for  support  against  the  wall  of  the  barn,  and  Buck 
sprang  to  her  side.  In  a  moment,  however,  she  stood  up 
and  imperiously  waved  him  aside. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  movement.  Her  whole 
manner  seemed  to  have  frozen  up.  The  frank  girlishness 
had  died  as  completely  as  though  it  had  never  been,  and 
the  man  stood  abashed,  and  at  a  loss  for  understanding. 

Now  he  saw  before  him  a  woman  still  beautiful,  but  a 
woman  whose  eyes  had  lost  every  vestige  of  that  happy 
light.  Despair  was  written  in  every  feature,  despair  and 
utter  hopelessness.  Her  mouth,  that  beautiful  mouth  so 
rich  and  delicate,  was  now  tight  shut  as  of  one  in  great 
suffering,  and  deep,  hard  lines  had  suddenly  gathered 
about  the  corners  of  it.  The  change  smote  him  to  the 
heart,  but  left  him  utterly  helpless. 

Realization  had  come.  Joan  had  suddenly  remembered 
all  that  lay  behind  her — all  that  had  driven  her  to  seek  the 
remoteness  of  the  wild  Western  world.  She  had  sought  to 


130  THE  GG-JDEN  WOMAN 

flee  from  the  fate  which  her  Aunt  Mercy  had  told  her  was 
hers,  and  now  she  knew  that  she  might  as  well  try  to  flee 
from  her  own  shadow. 

Oh,  the  horror  of  it  all !  These  people  believed  that  she 
had  brought  them  their  luck.  She  knew  that  she  had. 
What  was  the  disaster  that  must  follow  ?  What  lives 
must  go  down  before  the  sword  a  terrible  Fate  had  placed 
in  her  hand  ?  For  the  moment  panic  held  her  in  its  grip. 
For  a  moment  it  seemed  that  death  alone  could  save  her 
from  the  dread  consequences  of  the  curse  that  was  upon 
her.  It  was  cruel,  cruel — the  desolation,  the  hopelessness 
of  it  all.  And  in  her  sudden  anguish  she  prayed  that 
death  might  be  visited  upon  her. 

But  even  amidst  the  horror  of  her  realization  the  in- 
fluence of  the  man's  presence  was  at  work.  She  knew  he 
was  there  a  witness  to  the  terror  she  could  not  hide,  and 
so  she  strove  for  recovery. 

Then  she  heard  him  speak,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  quiet 
tone  her  nerves  eased  and  she  grew  calmer. 

"  I  don't  guess  you  recovered  from  the  storm.  I'd  sure 
say  you  need  rest,"  Buck  said  in  his  gentle,  solicitous 
fashion.  And  in  her  heart  Joan  thanked  him  for  the  en- 
couragement his  words  gave  her.  He  had  asked  no  ques- 
tions. He  had  expressed  no  astonishment,  and  yet  she 
knew  he  must  have  realized  that  her  trouble  was  no 
physical  ailment. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  jumping  at  the  opening  he  had  given 
her,  "  I'm  tired.  I'll— I'll  go  back  to  the  house." 

Buck  nodded,  disguising  his  anxiety  beneath  a  calm 
that  seemed  so  natural  to  him. 

"Jest  get  back  an'  rest.  You  needn't  worry  any  'bout 
the  hosses,  an'  cows,  an'  things.  I'm  fixin'  them  for  the 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST  131 

night,  an'  I'll  be  right  along  in  the  morning  to  do  the 
chores.  Y'  see  I  know  this  farm,  an'  all  that  needs  doin'. 
Guess  I  was  raised  on  it,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  "  so  the 
work's  sort  o'  second  nature  to  me." 

Joan's  chance  had  come,  but  she  passed  it  by.  She 
knew  she  ought  to  have  refused  his  help.  She  ought  to 
have,  as  Mrs.  Ransford  had  said,  sent  him  about  his  busi- 
ness. But  she  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  She  accepted. 
She  did  more.  She  held  out  her  hand  to'  him,  and  let  him 
take  it  in  both  of  his  in  a  friendly  pressure  as  she  thanked 
him. 

"  I'm — I'm  very  grateful,"  she  said  weakly.  And  the 
man  flushed  under  his  sunburn,  while  his  temples  ham- 
mered as  the  hot  young  blood  mounted  to  his  brain. 

A  moment  later  Buck  stood  staring  at  the  angle  of  the 
barn  round  which  Joan  had  just  vanished.  He  was  half- 
dazed,  and  the  only  thing  that  seemed  absolutely  real  to 
him  was  the  gentle  pressure  of  her  hand  as  it  had  rested 
in  his.  He  could  feel  it  still ;  he  could  feel  every  pressure 
of  the  soft,  warm  flesh  where  it  had  lain  on  his  hard 
palms.  And  all  the  time  he  stood  there  his  whole  body 
thrilled  with  an  emotion  that  was  almost  painful. 

At  last  he  stirred.  He  stooped  and  picked  up  the  dis- 
carded fork.  He  had  no  definite  purpose.  He  was 
scarcely  aware  of  his  action.  He  held  it  for  a  moment 
poised  in  the  air.  Then  slowly  he  let  the  prongs  of  it  rest 
on  the  ground,  and,  leaning  his  chin  on  his  hands  clasped 
about  the  haft,  stared  out  at  the  hills  and  gave  himself 
up  to  such  a  dream  as  never  before  had  entered  his  life. 

The  sun  was  dipping  behind  the  snowcaps,  and  for  half 
an  hour  the  work  he  had  voluntarily  undertaken  remained 
untouched. 


1 32  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

How  much  longer  he  would  have  remained  lost  in  his 
wonderful  dreaming  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
tell.  But  he  was  ruthlessly  awakened,  and  all  his  youth- 
ful ardor  received  a  cold  douche  as  the  evening  quiet 
was  suddenly  broken  by  the  harsh  voices  of  the  crowd  of 
gold-seekers,  whom  he  suddenly  beheld  approaching  the 
farm  along  the  trail. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

BUCK  wondered  as  he  noted  the  extraordinary  picture 
of  jubilation  which  the  approaching  crowd  presented.  In 
all  his  association  with  these  people  he  had  never  wit- 
nessed anything  to  equal  it  or  even  come  near  it.  He 
never  remembered  anything  like  a  real  outburst  of  joy 
during  the  long,  dreary  months  since  they  had  first 
camped  on  the  banks  of  Yellow  Creek. 

He  watched  the  faces  as  they  drew  near.  From  the 
shelter  of  the  barn,  whither  he  had  retreated,  he  had  them 
in  full  view.  He  looked  for  the  old,  weary  signs  of  their 
recent  privations  and  sufferings.  There  were  none,  not 
one.  They  had  passed  as  utterly  as  though  they  had 
never  been. 

It  was  a  spectacle  in  which  he  found  the  greatest  pleas- 
ure. The  men  were  clad  in  their  work-stained  clothing, 
their  only  clothing.  Their  faces  remained  unwashed, 
and  still  bore  the  accumulations  of  dusty  sweat  from 
their  day's  fevered  labors.  But  it  was  the  light  in  their 
eyes,  their  grinning  faces,  the  buoyancy  of  their  gait  that 
held  him.  He  heard  their  voices  lifted  in  such  a  tone  as 
would  have  seemed  impossible  only  a  few  days  ago. 
The  loud,  harsh  laugh,  accompanying  inconsequent  jests 
and  jibes,  it  was  good  to  hear.  These  men  were  tasting 
the  sweets  of  a  moment  of  perfect  happiness.  Buck  knew 
well  enough  that  soon,  probably  by  the  morrow,  the  mo- 


134  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

merit  would  have  passed,  and  they  would  have  settled 
again  to  the  stern  calling  of  their  lives. 

All  his  sympathy  was  with  them,  and  their  joy  was  re- 
flected in  his  own  feelings.  Their  hope  was  his  hope, 
their  buoyancy  was  his  buoyancy.  For  his  happiness 
was  complete  at  the  moment,  and  thus  he  was  left  free  to 
feel  with  those  others.  Such  was  his  own  wonderful 
exaltation  that  the  thought  of  the  termination  of  these 
people's  suffering  was  the  final  note  that  made  his  joy 
complete. 

He  laid  his  fork  aside  and  waited  till  they  had  passed 
his  retreat.  The  object  of  their  journey  was  obviously 
the  farmhouse,  and  he  felt  that  he  must  learn  their 
further  purpose.  He  remembered  Joan's  going  from  him. 
He  had  seen  the  pain  and  trouble  in  her  beautiful  eyes, 
and  so  he  feared  that  the  sudden  rush  of  animal  spirits  in 
these  people  would  drive  them  to  extravagances,  well 
enough  meant,  but  which  might  worry  and  even  alarm  her. 

He  moved  quickly  out  of  the  barn  and  looked  after 
them.  They  had  reached  the  house,  and  stood  like  a 
herd  of  subdued  and  silly  sheep  waiting  for  a  sign  from 
their  leader.  It  was  a  quaint  sight.  The  laugh  and  jest 
had  died  out,  and  only  was  the  foolish  grin  left.  Yes, 
they  certainly  had  a  definite  purpose  in  their  minds,  but 
they  equally  certainly  were  in  doubt  as  to  how  it  should 
be  carried  out. 

Buck  drew  nearer  without  attracting  their  attention. 
The  men  were  so  deeply  engaged  with  the  dilemma  of 
the  moment  that  he  might  almost  have  joined  the  group 
without  observation.  But  he  merely  desired  to  be  on 
hand  to  help  should  the  troubled  girl  need  his  help.  He 
had  no  desire  to  take  active  part  in  the  demonstration. 


THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN  135 

As  he  came  near  he  heard  Beasley's  voice,  and  the  very 
sound  of  it  jarred  unpleasantly  on  his  ears.  The  man 
was  talking  in  that  half-cynical  fashion  which  was  never 
without  an  added  venom  behind  it. 

"  Well,"  he  heard  him  exclaim  derisively,  "  wot's  doin'  ? 
You're  all  mighty  big  talkers  back  ther'  in  camp,  but  I 
don't  seem  to  hear  any  bright  suggestions  goin'  around 
now.  You  start  this  gorl-durned  racket  like  a  pack  o' 
weak-headed  fools,  yearnin'  to  pitch  away  what's  been 
chucked  right  into  your  fool  laps  jest  fer  one  o'  Blue 
Grass  Pete's  fat-head  notions.  Well,  wot's  doin'?  I 
ask." 

"  You  ke'p  that  ugly  map  o'  yours  closed,"  cried  Pete 
hotly.  "  You  ain't  bein'  robbed  any." 

"  Guess  I'll  see  to  that,"  retorted  Beasley,  with  a  grin. 
"  The  feller  that  robs  me' 11  need  to  chew  razors  fer  a  pas- 
time. If  it  comes  to  that  you're  yearnin'  fer  glory  at  the 
Padre's  expense — as  usual." 

Buck's  ears  tingled,  and  he  drew  closer.  Beasley  al- 
ways had  a  knack  of  so  blending  truth  with  his  personal 
venom  that  it  stung  far  more  than  downright  insult.  He 
wondered  what  the  Padre's  generosity  had  been,  and 
wherein  lay  its  connection  with  their  present  purpose. 
The  explanation  was  not  long  in  coming,  for  Montana 
Ike  took  up  the  challenge  amidst  a  storm  of  ominous 
murmurs  from  the  gathered  men. 

"  Don't  take  nuthin'  from  him,"  cried  the  youngster 
scornfully.  Then  he  turned  on  Beasley  fiercely.  "  You 
need  Buck  around  to  set  you  right,  Mister  Lousy  Beasley," 
he  cried.  "  We  ain't  robbin'  anybody,  an*  sure  not  the 
Padre.  He  found  that  nugget,  an'  it's  his  to  give  or  do 
wot  he  likes  with.  The  gal  brought  us  the  luck,  an'  the 


136  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Padre  guessed  it  was  only  right  she  should  have  the  first 
find.  That  nugget  was  the  first  find,  an'  the  Padre  found 
it.  Wai !  "  But  as  no  reply  was  forthcoming  he  hurried 
on,  turning  his  tongue  loose  in  the  best  abuse  he  could 
command  at  the  moment.  "  You're  a  rotten  sort  o'  skunk 
anyway,  an'  you  ain't  got  a  decent  thought  in  your 
diseased  head.  I'd  like  to  say  right  here  that  you  hate 
seein'  a  sixty-ounce  lump  o'  gold  in  any  other  hands  than 
your  own  dirty  paws.  That's  your  trouble,  so  jest  shut 
right  up  while  better  folks  handles  a  matter  wot's  a  sight 
too  delicate  fer  a  rotten  mind  like  yours  " 

The  smile  had  returned  to  every  face  except  the  foxy 
features  of  the  ex-Churchman,  who  for  once  had  no 
adequate  retort  ready.  Curly  Saunders  nodded  ap- 
preciation, and  helped  to  solve  the  momentary  dilemma 
prevailing. 

"  That's  sure  done  it  fer  you,  Montana/'  he  cried  glee- 
fully. "You  make  the  presentation.  I'd  say  I  never 
heard  so  elegant  a  flow  of  argyment  in  this  yer  camp. 
You'll  talk  most  pretty  to  the  leddy." 

"  An'  it  ain't  fer  me  to  say  I  can't  do  it  if  need  be, 
neither,"  said  Montana  modestly.  "Don't  guess  it's 
much  of  a  stunt  yappin'  pretty  to  a  sorrel-topped  gal." 

Abe  Allinson  laughed. 

"  It's  sure  up  to  you,  Ike,"  he  said.  "  Guess  you  best 
git  busy  right  away." 

The  rest  waited  for  the  youngster's  acceptance  of  the 
responsibility,  which  promptly  came  with  perfect  good- 
will. 

"Gee!  But  you're  a  gritty  outfit,"  he  cried,  with  a 
wide  grin.  "  Say,  I  guess  you'd  need  a  fence  around 
you  shootin'  jack-rabbits.  Jack-rabbits  is  ter'ble  fierce. 


THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN  137 

Guess  you'd  most  be  skeered  to  death  at  a  skippin'  lamb 
bleatin'  fer  its  mother.  Can't  say  I  ever  heerd  tell  as  a 
feller  need  be  skeered  of  a  pair  o'  gal's  eyes,  nor  a  sight 
o'  red  ha'r.  You  said  it  was  red,  Pete,  didn't  you?  I'd 
sure  say  a  bright  feller  don't  need  to  worry  any  over 
talkin'  pretty  to  a  gal  like  that.  She's  up  agin  a  proposi- 
tion if  she  thinks  she  ken  skeer  me.  Wher'  is  she  ?  Jest 
call  her  out.  She's  goin*  to  git  her  med'cine  right  here 
in  the  open.  I  ain't  doin'  no  parlor  tricks." 

The  boy  stood  out  from  the  crowd  with  a  decided  show 
of  mild  bravado,  but  he  glanced  about  him,  seeking  the 
moral  support  of  his  fellows. 

"  You  best  knock  on  the  door,  Ike,"  said  Curly  quietly. 

Ike  hesitated.  Then  he  turned  doubtfully  to  those  be- 
hind. 

"You — you  mean  that?"  he  inquired.  "You  ain't 
foolin'  none  ?  "  Then,  as  though  realizing  his  own  weak- 
ness, he  began  to  bluster.  "  Cos  I  ain't  takin'  no  foolin' 
in  a  racket  o'  this  sort.  An'  any  feller  thinks  he  ken  fool 
me'll  sure  hate  hisself  when  I'm  through  with  him." 

A  mild  snicker  greeted  his  "big  talk,"  and  the  boy 
flushed  hotly.  He  was  half-inclined  to  add  further  resent- 
ment, but,  second  thoughts  prevailing,  he  abruptly  turned 
to  the  door  and  hammered  on  it  as  though  anticipating 
stern  resistance  from  those  within. 

Inside  the  house  Mrs.  Ransford  was  debating  the 
situation  with  her  mistress.  She  had  witnessed  the  ad- 
vance of  the  besieging  party,  and,  half-frightened  and 
half-resentful,  the  latter  perhaps  the  more  plainly  mani- 
fested, she  was  detailing  in  unmeasured  terms  her  opinions 
and  fears  to  the  still  harassed  girl. 


138  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"Jest  git  a  peek  at  'em  through  the  window,  miss — 
'ma'm'  I  should  say,  on'y  I  don't  allus  remember  right, 
as  you  might  say.  Ther's  twenty  an'  more  o'  the  lowest 
down  bums  ever  I  see  outside  a  State  penitentiary. 
They're  sure  the  most  ter' blest  lot  ever  I  did  see.  An' 
they  got  'emselves  fixed  up  wi'  guns  an'  knives,  an'  what 
not  an'  sech,  till  you  can't  see  the  color  o'  their  clothes 
fer  the  dirt  on  'em.  I'll  swar'  to  goodness,  as  the  sayin' 
is,  they  ain't  never  see  no  water  sence  they  was  christened, 
if  they  ever  was  christened,  which  I  don't  believe  no 
gospel  preacher  would  ever  so  demean  himself.  An' 
as  fer  soap,  say,  they  couldn't  even  spell  it  if  you 
was  to  hand  'em  the  whole  soap  fact'ry  literature  of  a 
fi'-cent  daily  noos-sheet.  They're  jest  ter'ble,  an'  it 
seems  to  me  we  sure  need  a  reg'ment  o'  United 
States  Cavalry  settin'  around  on  horses  an'  field  guns 
to  pertect  us,  ef  we're  to  farm  this  one-hossed  layout. 
They're  'bad  men,'  mum,  miss — which  I  made  a  mis- 
take ag'in — that's  wot  they  are.  I've  read  about  'em  in 
the  fi'-cent  comics,  so  I  sure  know  'em  when  I  see  'em, 
You  can't  never  make  no  mistake.  They're  jest  goin' 
to  shoot  us  all  up  to  glory,  an'  they'll  dance  around  on 
our  corpses,  same  as  if  they  was  nuthin',  nor  no  account 
anyways." 

In  spite  of  her  recent  shock  Joan  found  herself  smiling 
at  the  strange  mixture  of  fear  and  anger  in  the  old  woman's 
manner.  But  she  felt  it  necessary  to  check  her  flow  of 
wild  accusations.  She  guessed  easily  enough  who  the 
men  were  that  were  approaching  the  house,  but  their  ob- 
ject remained  a  mystery. 

"  You're  hasty.  You  mustn't  judge  these  people  by 
their  appearance.  They're " 


THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN  139 

But  the  feverish  tongue  was  promptly  set  clacking 
again. 

"  An'  wot,  I  asks,  is  they  to  be  judged  by  if  not  by  wot 
they  are?  They  jest  come  along  a-yowlin',  an'  a-shootin' 
offn  their  guns  an'  things,  same  as  they  allus  do  when 
they's  on  the  war-path.  Scalps,  that's  wot  they's  after. 
Scalps,  no  more  an'  no  less.  An'  to  think  o'  me  at  my 
time  o'  life  a-fallin'  a  prey  to  Injuns,  as  you  might  say. 
Oh,  if  on'y  my  pore  George  D.  Ransford  was  alive  1 
He'd  'a'  give  'em  scalps.  He  was  a  man,  sure,  even 
though  he  did  set  around  playin'  poker  all  night  when  I 
was  in  labor  with  my  twins.  He  was  a  great  fighter  was 
George  D. — as  the  marks  on  my  body  ken  show  to  this 
very  day.'' 

At  that  instant  there  was  a  terrific  knocking  at  the  door 
which  opened  directly  into  the  parlor  in  which  the  wait- 
ing women  were  standing,  and  the  farm-wife  jumped  and 
staggered  back,  and,  finally,  collapsed  into  an  adjacent 
chair. 

"  Sakes  on  us,"  she  cried,  her  fat  face  turning  a  sort  of 
pea-green,  "  if  only  my  pore  George  D. " 

But  Joan's  patience  could  stand  no  more. 

"  For  goodness'  sake  go  back  to  your  kitchen,  you  ab- 
surd creature.  I'll  see  to  the  matter.  I  • " 

But  the  old  woman  wobbled  to  her  feet  almost  weeping. 

"  Now,  don't  'ee,  miss,"  she  cried  in  her  tearful  anxiety, 
getting  her  form  of  address  right  the  first  time.  "  Don't 
'ee  be  rash.  Ther'll  be  blood  spilt,  ther'  sure  will.  Ther's 
on'y  one  way,  miss,  you  must  talk  'em  nice,  an',  an'  if  they 
go  fer  to  take  liberties,  you — why  you,"  she  edged 
toward  her  kitchen,  "  you  jest  send  for  me  right  away." 

She  hurried  out,  and  the  moment  she  was  out  ot  sight 


140  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

fled  precipitately  to  the  farthest  extremity  of  her  own  do- 
main and  armed  herself  with  the  heavy  iron  shaker  of  the 
cook-stove. 

In  the  meantime  Joan  went  to  the  door  and  flung  it 
wide  open.  In  spite  of  the  farm-wife's  warnings  she  had 
not  a  shadow  of  doubt  as  to  the  peaceful  object  of  the 
visitation,  and  rather  felt  that  in  some  sort  of  way  it  was 
intended  as  an  expression  of  good-will  and  greeting. 
Had  not  Buck  told  her  that  they  held  her  in  the  light  of 
some  sort  of  benefactor  ?  So  she  stood  in  the  doorway 
erect  and  waiting,  with  a  calm  face,  on  which  there  was 
not  a  shadow  of  a  smile. 

She  took  in  the  gathering  at  a  glance,  and  her  eyes 
came  to  rest  upon  the  foremost  figure  of  Montana  Ike. 
She  noted  his  slim,  boyish  figure,  the  weak,  animal  ex- 
pression shining  in  his  furtive  eyes.  To  her  he  looked 
just  what  he  was,  a  virile  specimen  of  reckless  young 
manhood,  of  vicious  and  untamed  spirit.  She  saw  at  once 
that  he  was  standing  out  from  his  companions,  and  un- 
derstood that,  for  the  moment  at  least,  he  was  their  leader. 

"  Good-evening,"  she  said,  her  attitude  mechanically 
unbending. 

"  Evenin',  miss/'  responded  Ike  bravely,  and  then  re- 
lapsed into  a  violent  condition  of  blushing  through  his 
dirt. 

He  stood  there  paralyzed  at  the  girl's  beauty.  He  just 
gaped  foolishly  at  her,  his  eyes  seeking  refuge  in  dwell- 
ing upon  the  well-cut  skirt  she  wore  and  the  perfect 
whiteness  of  the  lawn  shirt-waist,  which  permitted  the  del- 
icate pink  tinge  of  her  arms  and  shoulders  to  show  through 
it. 

All  his  bravery  was  gone — all  his  assurance.     If  his  life 


THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN  141 

had  depended  on  it  not  one  word  of  an  address  on  behalf 
of  his  fellows  could  he  have  uttered. 

Joan  saw  his  confusion,  and  mercifully  came  to  his  res- 
cue. 

"  You  wish  to  see  me  ?  "  she  inquired,  with  a  smile  which 
plunged  the  boy  into  even  more  hopeless  confusion. 

As  no  answer  was  forthcoming  she  looked  appealingly 
at  the  other  faces. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you  all  to  come  here,"  she  said  gently* 
"  Is — is  there  anything  I  can — do  for  you  ?  " 

Suddenly  Beasley's  voice  made  itself  heard. 

"  Git  busy,  Ike,  you're  spokesman,"  he  cried.  "  Git 
on  with  the  presentation — ladle  out  the  ad — dress.  You're 
kind  o'  lookin'  foolish." 

He  followed  up  his  words  with  his  unpleasant  laugh, 
and  it  was  the  sting  the  youthful  leader  needed. 

He  turned  fiercely  on  the  speaker,  his  momentary  par- 
alysis all  vanished. 

"  Ef  I'm  spokesman/5  he  cried,  "  guess  we  don't  need 
no  buttin'  in  from  Beasley  Melford."  Then  he  turned 
again  quickly.  "Astin'  your  pardon,  miss,"  he  added 
apologetically. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Joan,  smiling  amiably.  "What 
are  you  '  spokesman  '  for  ?  " 

The  boy  grinned  foolishly. 

"  Can't  rightly  say,  missie."  Then  he  jerked  his  head 
in  his  comrades'  direction.  "  Guess  if  you  was  to  ast 
them,  they'd  call  theirselves  men" 

"  I  didn't  say  '  who,'  I  said  '  what,'  "  Joan  protested, 
with  a  laugh  at  his  desperately  serious  manner. 

"  '  What  ? '"  he  murmured,  smearing  his  dirty  forehead 
with  a  horny  hand  in  the  effort  of  his  task.  Then  he 


142  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

brightened.  "  Why,  gener'ly  speakin',"  he  went  o*.  with 
sudden  enthusiasm,  "they  ain't  much  better'n  skippin' 
sheep.  Y'  see  they  want  to  but  darsent.  So — wal — they 
jest  set  me  up  to  sling  the  hot  air." 

The  girl  looked  appealingly  at  the  rough  faces  for  as- 
sistance. But  instead  of  help  she  only  beheld  an  expres- 
sion of  general  discontent  turned  on  the  unconscious  back 
of  the  spokesman.  And  coming  back  to  the  boy  she  pur- 
sued the  only  course  possible. 

"  I — I  don't  think  I  quite  understand,"  she  said, 

Ike  readily  agreed  with  her. 

"  I'm  durned  sure  you  can't,"  he  cried  heartily.  "  They 
jest  think  it  a  rotten  kind  of  a  job  handin'  a  red-ha'r'd  gal 
a  few  words  an'  an  a' mighty  fine  hunk  o'  gold.  That's  cos 
they  ain't  been  dragged  up  jest  right.  You  can't  expect 
elegant  feedin'  at  a  hog  trough.  Now  it's  kind  o'  diff'r- 
ent  wi'  me.  I " 

-'  Oh,  quit,"  cried  the  sharp  voice  of  the  exasperated 
Abe  Allinson.  And  there  was  no  doubt  but  he  was  speak- 
ing for  the  rest  of  the  audience. 

Pete  followed  him  in  a  tone  of  equal  resentment. 

"That  ain't  no  sort  o'  way  ad — dressin'  a  leddy,"  he 
said  angrily. 

"  Course  it  ain't,"  sneered  Beasley.  "  Ther's  sure  bats 
roostin'  in  your  belfry,  Ike." 

The  boy  jumped  round  on  the  instant.  His  good-nature 
could  stand  the  jibes  of  his  comrades  generally,  but 
Beasley's  sneers  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  could  en- 
dure. 

"  Who's  that  yappin'  ?  "  the  youngster  cried,  glower- 
ing into  the  speaker's  face.  "  That  the  feller  Buck  called 
an  outlaw  passon?"  he  demanded.  His  right  hand 


THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN  143 

slipped  to  the  butt  of  his  gun.  "  Say  you,"  he  cried 
threateningly,  "  if  you  got  anything  to  say  I'm  right  here 
yearnin'  to  listen." 

Joan  saw  the  half-drawn  weapon,  and  in  the  same  in- 
stant became  aware  of  a  movement  on  the  part  of  the  man 
Beasley.  She  was  horrified,  expecting  one  of  those  fierce 
collisions  she  had  heard  about.  But  the  moment  passed, 
and,  though  she  did  not  realize  it,  it  was  caused  by  Ike's 
gun  leaving  its  holster  first. 

Her  woman's  fear  urged  her,  and  she  raised  a  protest- 
ing hand. 

"  Please — please,"  she  cried,  her  eyes  dilating  with  ap- 
prehension. "  What  have  I  done  that  you  should  come 
here  to  quarrel  ?  r' 

Buck  in  the  background  smiled.  He  was  mentally  ap- 
plauding the  girl's  readiness,  while  he  watched  the  others 
closely. 

Ike  turned  to  her  again,  and  his  anger  had  merged  into 
a  comical  look  of  chagrin. 

"  Y'  see,  missie,"  he  said  in  a  fresh  tone  of  apology, 
"  ther's  fellers  around  here  wi'  no  sort  o'  manners.  They're 
scairt  to  death  makin'  a  big  talk  to  a  red-ha'r'd  gal,  so  I 
jest  got  to  do  it.  An'  I  sez  it,  it  ain't  easy,  folks  like  me 
speechin'  to  folks  like  you " 

"  Oh,  git  on !  "  cried  Pete  in  a  tired  voice. 

"  Your  hot  air's  nigh  freezin',"  laughed  Soapy  Kid. 

"  Quit  it,"  cried  Ike  hotly.  "  Ain't  they  an  ignorant 
Jot  oj  hogs  ?  "  he  went  on,  appealing  to  the  smiling  girl. 
"  Y'  see,  missie,  we're  right  glad  you  come  along.  We're 
prospectin'  this  layout  fer  gold  an' " 

"  An'  we  ain't  had  no  sort  o'  luck  till  you  got  around/ 
added  Pete  hastily. 


144  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  In  the  storm,"  nodded  Curly  Saunders. 

"  All  mussed-up  an'  beat  to  hell,"  cried  Ike,  feeling  that 
he  was  being  ousted  from  his  rights. 

"  Yes,  an'  Buck  carried  you  to  home,  an'  rode  in  fer  the 
doc,  an'  had  you  fixed  right,"  cried  Abe. 

Ike  looked  round  indignantly. 

"  Say,  is  youse  fellers  makin'  this  big  talk  or  me  ? 
ain't  yearnin',  if  any  feller's  lookin'  fer  glory." 

His  challenge  was  received  with  a  chorus  of  laughter. 

"  You're  doin'  fine,"  cried  the  Kid. 

Ike  favored  the  speaker  with  a  contemptuous  stare  and 
returned  to  his  work.  He  shrugged. 

"  They  ain't  no  account  anyway,  missie,"  he  assured 
her,  "  guess  they're  sore.  Wai,  y*  see  you  come  along  in 
the  storm,  an'  what  should  happen  but  the  side  o'  Devil's 
Hill  drops  out,  an'  sets  gold  rollin'  around  like — like 
taters  fallin'  through  a  rotten  sack.  '  Gold  ? '  sez  we,  an* 
gold  it  is.  '  Who  bro't  us  sech  luck  ?  '  we  asts.  An'  ther' 
it  is  right  ther',  so  ther'  can't  be  no  mistake.  Jest  a  pore, 
sick  gal  wi'  red  ha'r,  all  beat  to  hell  an' " 

"  Gee,  ain't  it  beautiful  1 "  sneered  Curly. 

Soapy  pretended  to  weep,  and  Abe  thumped  him 
heavily  on  the  back. 

"  Cheer  up,  Kid,"  he  grinned.  "  'Tain't  as  bad  as  it 
seems.  Ike'll  feel  better  after  he's  had  his  vittles." 

Pete  sniggered. 

"  Ain't  he  comic  ?"  he  cried.  Then,  seizing  the  oppor- 
tunity, while  Ike  turned  round  to  retort  he  hustled  him 
aside  and  usurped  his  place. 

"  Say,  missie,  it's  jest  this,  you're  the  Golden  Woman 
who  bro't  us  our  luck.  Some  of  us  ain't  got  your  name 
right,  nor  nuthin'.  Anyway  that  don't  figger  nuthin'. 


THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN  145 

We  ain't  had  no  luck  till  you  come  along,  so  you're  jest 
our  Golden  Woman,  an'  we're  goin'  to  hand  you " 

Joan  started  back  as  though  the  man  had  struck  her. 
Her  beautiful  cheeks  went  a  ghastly  pallor. 

"  No — no  !  "  she  cried  half-wildly. 

"  And  why  for  not  ?  "  demanded  Pete. 

"  But  my  name  is  Joan,"  she  cried,  a  terrible  dread  al- 
most overpowering  her.  "  You  see  *  Golden  '  isn't  my 
real  name,"  she  explained,  without  pausing  to  think. 
"  That's  only  a  nickname  my  father  ga — gave  me.  I — I 
was  christened  '  Joan.' ' 

Pete  slapped  his  thigh  heavily,  and  a  great  grin  spread 
over  his  face. 

"  Say,  don't  it  beat  the  band  ?  "  he  cried  in  wild  delight. 
"  Don't  it  ?  "  he  repeated,  appealing  to  the  world  at  large. 
"  '  Golden/  That's  her  name,  an'  we  only  hit  on  it  cos 
she's  got  gold  ha'r,  an'  bro't  us  gold.  An'  all  the  time 
her  pa  used  to  call  her  *  Golden.'  Can  you  beat  it?'* 
Then  he  looked  into  Joan's  face  with  admiring  eyes. 
"  Say,  missie,  that's  your  name  for  jest  as  long  as  you 
stop  around  this  layout.  That's  her  name,  ain't  it,  boys  ?  " 
He  appealed  to  the  crowd.  "  Here,  give  it  her  good  an* 
plenty,  boys.  Hooray  for  the  '  Golden  Woman  '  ! " 

Instantly  the  air  was  filled  with  a  harsh  cheering  that 
left  the  girl  almost  weeping  in  her  terror  and  misery.  But 
the  men  saw  nothing  of  the  effect  of  their  good- will.  They 
were  only  too  glad  to  be  able  to  find  such  an  outlet  to 
their  feelings.  When  the  cheering  ceased  Pete  thrust  out 
an  arm  toward  her.  His  palm  was  stretched  open,  and 
lying  on  it  was  the  great  yellow  nugget  that  the  Padre 
had  found— the  first  find  of  the  "  strike." 

"  That's  it,  missie,"  he  cried,  his  wild  eyes  rolling  de- 


146  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

lightedly.  "  Look  right  ther'.  That's  feryou.  The  Padre 
found  it,  an'  it's  his  to  give,  an'  he  sent  it  to  you.  That's 
the  sort  o'  luck  you  bro't  us." 

The  crowd  closed  in  with  necks  craning  to  observe  the 
wonderful  nugget  of  gold  ;  to  the  finding  of  its  kind  their 
lives  were  devoted.  Beasley  was  at  Pete's  elbow,  the 
greediest  of  them  all. 

"  It  wasn't  no  scrapin'  an'  scratchin'  luck,"  the  enthusi- 
astic Pete  hurried  on.  "  It  was  gold  in  hunks  you 
bro't  us." 

Beasley's  eyes  lit,  and  Buck,  watching  closely,  edged  in. 

"  It's  a  present  to  you,  missie,"  Pete  went  on.  "  That's 
wot  we  come  for.  Jest  to  hand  you  that  nugget.  Nigh 
sixty  ounces  solid  gold,  an'  the  first  found  at  this  yer 
camp." 

Balanced  on  his  hand  he  thrust  it  farther  out  for  the  girl 
to  take,  but  she  shrank  back.  Beasley  saw  the  movement 
and  laughed.  He  pointed  at  it  and  leered  up  into  her 
face. 

"  You're  sure  right,"  he  cried.  "  Don't  you  touch 
it.  Jest  look  at  it.  Say,  can't  you  fellers  see,  or  are  you 
blind  ?  She  ain't  blind.  She  can  see.  She's  seen  wot's 
ther1.  It's  a  death's  head.  Gold  ?  Gee,  I  tell  you  it's  a 
death's  head  !  Look  at  them  eye-sockets,"  he  cried, 
pointing  at  the  curious  moulding  of  the  nugget.  "  Ther's 
the  nose  bones,  an'  the  jaw.  Look  at  them  teeth,  too,  all 
gold-filled,  same  as  if  a  dentist  had  done  'em."  He 
laughed  maliciously.  "  It's  a  dandy  present  fer  a  lady. 
A  keepsake  ! " 

The  men  were  crowding  to  see  the  markings  which 
Beasley  pointed  out.  They  were  quite  plain.  They  were 
so  obvious  that  something  like  horror  lit  the  superstitious 


THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN  147 

faces.  Beasley,  watching,  saw  that  he  had  made  his  point, 
so  he  hurried  on  — 

"  Don't  you  touch  it,  miss,"  he  cried  gleefully,  as  though 
he  thoroughly  enjoyed  delivering  his  warning.  "  It's 
rotten  luck  if  you  do.  That  gold  is  Devil's  gold.  It's 
come  from  Devil's  Hill,  in  a  Devil's  storm.  It's  a  death's 
head,  an'  there's  all  the  trouble  in  the  world  in  it. 
There's " 

His  prophecy  remained  uncompleted.  He  was  sud- 
denly caught  by  a  powerful  hand,  and  the  next  instant  he 
found  himself  swung  to  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  with 
terrific  force. 

In  a  furious  rage  he  pulled  himself  together  just  in  time 
to  see  Buck,  pale  with  anger,  seize  the  nugget  from  Pete's 
outstretched  palm. 

"  You  don't  need  to  worry  with  the  trouble  in  that 
gold,"  he  said  with  biting  coldness,  raising  it  at  arm's 
length  above  his  head. 

Then  before  any  one  was  aware  of  his  intention  he  flung 
it  with  all  his  force  upon  the  flagstone  at  Joan's  feet. 
Quickly  he  stooped  and  picked  it  up  again,  and  again 
flung  it  down  with  all  his  strength.  He  repeated  the  proc- 
ess several  times,  and  finally  held  it  out  toward  the 
troubled  girl. 

"  You  ken  take  it  now,"  he  said,  his  whole  manner 
softening.  "  Guess  Beasley's  '  death's  head '  has  gone — 
to  its  grave.  Ther'  ain't  no  sort  o1  trouble  can  hurt  any, 
if — you  only  come  down  on  it  hard  enough.  The  trouble 
ain't  in  that  gold  now,  only  in  the  back  of  Beasley's  head. 
An'  when  it  gets  loose,  wal — I  allow  there's  folks  around 
here  won't  see  it  come  your  way.  You  can  sure  take  it 


148  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Joan  reached  out  a  timid  hand,  while  her  troubled  violet 
eyes  looked  into  Buck's  face  as  though  fascinated.  The 
man  moved  a  step  nearer,  and  the  small  hand  closed  over 
the  battered  nugget. 

"  Take  it,"  he  said  encouragingly.  "  It's  an  expression 
of  the  good  feelings  of  the  boys.  An'  I  don't  guess  you 
need  be  scared  of  them." 

Joan  took  the  gold,  but  there  was  no  smile  in  her  eyes, 
no  thanks  on  her  lips.  She  stepped  back  to  her  doorway 
and  passed  within. 

"I'm  tired,"  she  said,  and  her  words  were  solely  ad- 
dressed to  Buck.  He  nodded,  while  she  closed  the  door. 
Then  he  turned  about. 

"Wai!  "he  said. 

And  his  manner  was  a  decided  dismissal. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  CALL  OF  YOUTH 

THE  fur  fort  was  a  relic  of  ancient  days,  when  the  old- 
time  traders  of  the  North  sent  their  legions  of  pelt  hunters 
from  the  far  limits  of  the  northern  ice-world  to  the  sunny 
western  slopes  of  the  great  American  continent.  It  was 
at  such  a  place  as  this,  hemmed  in  amidst  the  foot-hills, 
that  they  established  their  factor  and  his  handful  of  armed 
men  ;  lonely  sentries  at  the  gates  of  the  mountain  world, 
to  levy  an  exorbitant  tax  upon  the  harvest  of  furs  within. 

Here,'  within  the  ponderous  stockade,  now  fallen  into 
sore  decay,  behind  iron-bound  doors  secured  by  mighty 
wooden  locks,  and  barred  with  balks  of  timber,  sheltered 
beneath  the  frowning  muzzles  of  half  a  dozen  futile  car- 
ronades,  they  reveled  in  obscene  orgies  and  committed 
their  barbaric  atrocities  under  the  name  of  Justice  and 
Commerce.  Here  they  amassed  wealth  for  the  parent 
companies  in  distant  lands,  and  ruthlessly  despoiled  the 
wild  of  its  furry  denizens. 

These  were  the  pioneers,  sturdy  savages  little  better  than 
the  red  man  himself,  little  better  in  their  lives  than  the 
creatures  upon  which  they  preyed.  But  they  were  for  the 
most  part  men,  vigorous,  dauntless  men  who  not  only 
made  history,  but  prepared  the  way  for  those  who  were  to 
come  after,  leaving  them  a  heritage  of  unsurpassable 
magnificence. 

Now,  this  old-time  relic  afforded  a  shelter  for  two  lonely 


150  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

men,  whose  only  emulation  of  their  predecessors  was  in 
the  craft  that  was  theirs.  In  all  else  there  remained  noth- 
ing in  common,  unless  it  were  that  common  asset  of  all 
pioneers,  a  sturdy  courage.  They  certainly  lacked  noth 
ing  of  this.  But  whereas  the  courage  of  their  prede- 
cessors, judging  them  by  all  historical  records,  in  quality 
belonged  largely  to  the  more  brutal  side  of  life,  these  men 
had  no  such  inspiration.  Their  calling  was  something  in 
the  nature  of  a  passionate  craving  for  the  exercise  of  wits 
and  instincts  in  a  hard  field  where  the  creatures  of  the* 
wild  meet  the  human  upon  almost  equal  terms. 

Isolation  was  nothing  new  to  these  men.     The  remote 
nesses  of   the  back  world  had  been  their  life  for  years 
They  understood   its   every  mood,  and   met   them  with 
nerves  in  perfect  tune.     The  mountains  filled  their  whole 
outlook.     They  desired  nothing  better,  nothing  more. 

Yet  it  seemed  strange  that  this  should  be.  For  the 
Padre  had  not  always  lived  beyond  the  fringes  of  civiliza- 
tion. He  was  a  man  of  education,  a  man  of  thought  and 
even  culture.  These  things  must  have  been  obvious  to 
the  most  casual  observer.  In  Buck's  case  it  was  easier  to 
understand.  He  had  known  no  other  life  than  this.  And 
yet  he,  too,  might  well  have  been  expected  to  look  askance 
at  a  future  lost  to  all  those  things  which  he  knew  to  lay 
beyond.  Was  he  not  at  the  threshold  of  life?  Were  not 
his  veins  thrilling  with  the  rich,  red  tide  of  youth  ?  Were 
not  all  those  instincts  which  go  to  make  up  the  sum  of 
young  human  life  as  much  a  part  of  him  as  of  those 
others  who  haunted  the  banks  of  Yellow  Creek  ?  The 
whole  scheme  was  surely  unusual.  The  Padre's  instinct 
was  to  roam  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  wild,  and  Buck, 
offered  his  release  from  its  wondrous  thrall,  had  refused  it. 


THE  CALL  OF  YOUTH  151 

Thus  they  embraced  this  new  home.  The  vast  and 
often  decaying  timbers,  hewn  out  of  the  very  forests  they 
loved,  cried  out  with  all  the  old  associations  they  bore  and 
held  them.  The  miniature  citadel  contained  within  the 
trenchant  stockade,  the  old  pelt  stores,  roofless  and  worm- 
eaten,  the  armory  which  still  suggested  the  clank  of  half- 
armored  men,  who  lived  only  for  the  joy  of  defying  death. 
The  factor's  house,  whence,  in  the  days  gone  by,  the 
orders  for  battle  had  been  issued,  and  the  sentence  of  life 
and  death  had  been  handed  out  with  scant  regard  for 
justice.  Then  there  were  the  ruined  walls  of  the  com- 
mon-room, where  the  fighting  men  had  caroused  and 
slept.  The  scenes  of  frightful  orgies  held  in  this  place 
were  easy  to  conjure.  All  these  things  counted  in  a  man- 
ner which  perhaps  remained  unacknowledged  by  either 
But  nevertheless  they  were  as  surely  a  part  of  the  lure  as 
the  chase  itself,  with  all  its  elemental  attraction. 

They  had  restored  just  as  much  of  the  old  factor's  house 
as  they  needed  for  their  simple  wants.  Two  rooms  were 
all  they  occupied,  two  rooms  as  simple  and  plain  as  their 
own  lives.  Buck  had  added  a  new  roof  of  logs  and  clay 
plaster.  He  had  set  up  two  stretchers  with  straw-stuffed 
paillasses  for  beds.  He  had  manufactured  a  powerful 
table,  and  set  it  upon  legs  cut  from  pine  saplings.  To  this 
he  had  added  the  removal  of  a  cook-stove  and  two  chairs, 
and  their  own  personal  wardrobe  from  the  farm,  and  so 
the  place  was  complete.  Yet  not  quite.  There  was  an 
arm  rack  upon  the  wall  of  the  living-room,  an  arm  rack 
that  had  at  one  time  doubtless  supported  the  old  flintlocks 
of  the  early  fur  hunters.  This  he  had  restored,  and  laden 
it  with  their  own  armory  and  the  spare  traps  of  their 
craft ;  while  their  only  luxury  was  the  fastening  up  be- 


1 52  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

side  the  doorway  of  a  frameless  looking-glass  for  shaving 
purposes. 

They  required  a  place  to  sleep  in,  a  place  in  which  to 
store  their  produce,  a  place  in  which  to  break  their  fast 
and  eat  their  meal  at  dusk.  Here  it  lay,  ready  to  their 
hand,  affording  them  just  these  simple  necessities,  and  so 
they  adopted  it. 

But  the  new  life  troubled  the  Padre  in  moments  when 
he  allowed  himself  to  dwell  upon  the  younger  man's 
future.  He  had  offered  him  his  release,  at  the  time  he 
had  parted  with  the  farm,  from  a  sense  of  simple  duty. 
It  would  have  been  a  sore  blow  to  him  had  Buck  ac- 
cepted, yet  he  would  have  submitted  readily,  even  gladly, 
for  he  felt  that  with  the  passing  of  the  farm  out  of  their 
hands  he  had  far  more  certainly  robbed  Buck  of  all 
provision  for  his  future  than  he  had  deprived  himself,  who 
was  the  actual  owner.  He  felt  that  in  seeking  to  help  the 
little  starving  colony  he  had  done  it,  in  reality,  at  Buck's 
expense. 

Something  of  this  was  in  his  mind  as  he  pushed  away 
from  their  frugal  breakfast-table.  He  stood  in  the  door- 
way filling  his  pipe,  while  Buck  cleared  the  tin  plates  and 
pannikins  and  plunged  them  into  the  boiler  of  hot  water 
on  the  stove. 

He  leant  his  stalwart  shoulders  against  the  door  casing, 
and  stared  out  at  the  wooded  valley  which  crossed  the 
front  of  the  house.  Beyond  it,  over  the  opposite  rise,  he 
could  see  the  dim  outline  of  the  crest  of  Devil's  Hill 
several  miles  away. 

He  felt  that  by  rights  Buck  should  be  there — somewhere 
there  beyond  the  valley.  Not  because  the  youngster  had 
any  desire  for  the  wealth  that  was  flowing  into  the  greedy 


THE  CALL  OF  YOUTH  153 

hands  of  the  gold-seekers.  It  was  simply  the  thought  of 
a  man  who  knows  far  more  of  the  world  than  he  cares  to 
remember.  He  felt  that  in  all  honesty  he  should  point  out 
the  duties  of  a  man  to  himself  in  these  days  when  advance- 
ment alone  counts,  and  manhood,  without  worldly  posi- 
tion, goes  for  so  very  little.  He  was  not  quite  sure  that 
Buck  didn't  perfectly  understand  these  things  for  himself. 
He  had  such  a  wonderful  understanding  and  insight. 
However,  his  duty  was  plain,  and  it  was  not  his  way  to 
shrink  from  it. 

Buck  was  sprinkling  the  earth  floor  preparatory  to 
sweeping  it  when  the  Padre  let  his  eyes  wander  back  into 
the  room. 

•'  Got  things  fixed  ?  "  he  inquired  casually. 

"  Mostly."  Buck  began  to  sweep  with  that  practiced 
hand  which  never  raises  a  dust  on  an  earthen  floor. 

The  Padre  watched  his  movements  thoughtfully. 

"  Seems  queer  seeing  you  sweeping  and  doing  chores 
like  a — a  hired  girl."  He  laughed  presently. 

Buck  looked  up  and  rested  on  his  broom.  He  smilingly 
surveyed  his  early  benefactor  and  friend. 

"  What's  worryin'  ?  "  he  inquired  in  his  direct  fashion. 

The  Padre  stirred  uneasily.  He  knocked  the  ashes  from 
his  pipe  and  pressed  the  glowing  tobacco  down  with  the 
head  of  a  rusty  nail. 

"  Oh,  nothing  worrying,"  he  said,  turning  back  to  his 
survey  of  the  valley  beyond  the  decaying  stockade. 
"  The  sun'll  be  over  the  hilltops  in  half  an  hour,"  he  went 
on. 

But  the  manner  of  his  answer  told  Buck  all  he  wanted 
to  know.  He  too  glanced  out  beyond  the  valley. 

"  Yes,"  he  ejaculated,  and  went  on  sweeping.     A  mo- 


154  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

ment  later  he  paused  again.  "  Guess  I  can't  be  out  at 
the  traps  till  noon.  Mebbe  you  ken  do  without  me — till 
then  ?  " 

"  Sure."  The  Padre  nodded  at  the  valley.  Then  he 
added  :  "  I've  been  thinking." 

"  'Bout  that  gold  strike  ?  'Bout  me  ?  You  bin  thinkin1 
I  ought  to  quit  the  traps,  an' — make  good  wi'  them.  I 
know." 

The  elder  man  turned  back  sharply  and  looked  into  the 
dark  eyes  with  a  shrewd  smile. 

"  You  generally  get  what  I'm  thinking,"  he  said. 

"  Guess  you're  not  much  of  a  riddle — to  me,"  Buck 
laughed,  drawing  the  moist  dust  into  a  heap  preparatory 
to  picking  it  up 

The  Padre  laughed  too. 

"  Maybe  you  know  how  I'm  feeling  about  things,  then  ? 
Y'  see  there's  nothing  for  you  now  but  half  the  farm 
money  That's  yours  anyway.  It  isn't  a  pile.  Seems 
to  me  you  ought  to  be — out  there  making  a  big  position 
for  yourself."  He  nodded  in  the  direction  of  Devil's  HilL 

"  Out  of  gold  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?     It's  an  opportunity." 

"What  for?"  Buck  inquired,  without  a  semblance  of 
enthusiasm. 

"  Why,  for  going  ahead — with  other  folks." 

Buck  nodded. 

"  I  know.  Goin'  to  a  city  with  a  big  pile.  A  big  house. 
Elegant  clothes.  Hired  servants.  Congress.  Goin' 
around  with  a  splash  of  big  type  in  the  noospapers." 

"  That's  not  quite  all,  Buck."  The  man  at  the  door 
shook  his  head.  "  A  man  when  he  rises  doesn't  need  to 
go  in  for — well,  for  vulgar  display.  There  are  a  heap  of 


THE  CALL  OF  YOUTH  155 

other  things  besides.  What  about  the  intellectual  side  of 
civilization  ?  What  about  the  advancement  of  good 
causes  ?  What  about — well,  all  those  things  we  reckon 
worth  while  out  here?  Then,  too,  you'll  be  marrying 
some  day." 

Buck  picked  up  the  dust  and  carefully  emptied  it  into 
the  blazing  stove.  He  watched  it  burn  for  a  moment,  and 
then  replaced  the  round  iron  top. 

"  Marryin'  needs — all  those  things?  "  he  inquired  at  last. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  say  that,"  returned  the  other  quickly. 
He  knew  something  was  lying  behind  Buck's  quiet  man- 
ner, and  it  made  him  a  little  uncomfortable.  "  Most  men 
find  a  means  of  marrying  when  they  want  to — if  they're 
men.  Look  here,"  he  went  on,  with  a  sudden  outburst  of 
simple  candor,  "  I  want  to  be  fair  to  you,  and  I  want  you  to 
be  fair  to  yourself.  There's  an  opportunity  over  there  " — 
he  pointed  with  his  pipe  in  the  direction  of  Devil's  Hill — 
"  an  opportunity  to  make  a  pile,  which  will  help  you  to 
take  a  position  in  the  world.  I  don't  want  you  to  stay 
with  me  from  any  mistaken  sense  of  gratitude  or  duty. 
It  is  my  lot,  and  my  desire,  to  remain  in  these  hills.  But 
you — you've  got  your  life  before  you.  You  can  rise  to 
the  top  if  you  want  to.  I  know  you.  I  know  your 
capacity.  Take  your  share  of  the  farm  money,  and — get 
busy." 

"An'  if  I  don't  want  to — get  busy?"  Buck's  dark 
eyes  were  alight  with  a  curious,  intense  warmth. 

The  Padre  shrugged  and  pushed  his  pipe  into  the  corner 
of  his  mouth. 

"  There's  nothing  more  to  be  said,"  he  replied. 

"  But  ther'  is,  Padre.  There  sure  is,"  cried  Buck,  step- 
ping over  to  him  and  laying  one  hand  on  the  great  shoulder 


156  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

nearest  him.  "  I  get  all  you  say.  I've  got  it  long  ago. 
You  bin  worryin'  to  say  all  this  since  ever  you  got  back 
from  sellin'  the  farm.  An'  it's  like  you.  But  you  an'  me 
don't  jest  figger  alike.  You  got  twenty  more  years  of  the 
world  than  me,  so  your  eyes  look  around  you  different. 
That's  natural.  You're  guessin'  that  hill  is  an  opportunity 
for  me.  Wai,  I'm  guessin'  it  ain't.  Mebbe  it  is  for 
others,  but  not  for  me.  I  got  my  opportunity  twenty 
years  ago,  an'  you  give  me  that  opportunity.  I  was 
starvin'  to  death  then,  an'  you  helped  me  out.  You're 
my  opportunity,  an'  it  makes  me  glad  to  think  of  it. 
Wher5  you  go  I  go,  an'  when  we  both  done,  why,  I  guess 
it  won't  be  hard  to  see  that  what  I  done  an'  what  you 
done  was  meant  for  us  both  to  do.  We're  huntin'  pelts 
for  a  HvhV  now,  an'  when  the  time  comes  for  us  to  quit  it, 
why,  we'll  both  quit  it  together,  an'  so  it'll  go  on.  It 
don't  matter  wher'  it  takes  us.  Say,"  he  went  on,  turn- 
ing away  abruptly.  "  Guess  I'll  jest  haul  the  drinkin' 
water  before  I  get." 

The  Padre  turned  his  quiet  eyes  on  the  slim  back. 

"  And  what  about  when  you  think  of  marrying  ?  "  he 
asked  shrewdly. 

Buck  paused  to  push  the  boiler  off  the  stove.  He 
shook  his  head  and  pointed  at  the  sky. 

"Guess  the  sun's  gettin'  up,"  he  said. 

The  Padre  laughed  and  prepared  to  depart. 

"  Where  you  off  to  this  morning  ? "  he  inquired  pres- 
ently. 

"  That  gal  ain't  got  a  hired  man,  yet,"  Buck  explained 
simply,  as  he  picked  up  his  saddle.  Then  he  added  in- 
genuously, "Y'  see  I  don't  guess  she  ken  do  the  chores, 
an'  the  old  woman  ain't  got  time  to — for  talkin'." 


THE  CALL  OF  YOUTH  157 

The  Padre  nodded  while  he  bent  over  the  breech  of  his 
Winchester.  He  had  no  wish  for  Buck  to  see  the  smile 
his  words  had  conjured. 

Buck  swung  his  saddle  on  to  his  shoulder  and  passed 
out  of  the  hut  in  the  direction  of  the  building  he  had  con- 
verted into  a  barn.  And  when  he  had  gone  the  Padre 
looked  after  him. 

"  He  says  she's  handsome,  with  red-gold  hair  and  blue 
eyes,"  he  murmured.  Then  a  far-away  look  stole  into 
his  steady  eyes,  and  their  stare  fixed  itself  upon  the  door- 
way of  the  barn  through  which  Buck  had  just  vanished. 
"  Curious, "  he  muttered.  "  They've  nicknamed  her 
4  Golden,'  which  happened  to  be  a  nickname — her  father 
gave  her." 

He  stood  for  some  moments  lost  in  thought.  Then, 
suddenly  pulling  himself  together,  he  shouldered  his 
rifle  and  disappeared  into  the  woods. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  WHIRLWIND  VISIT 

JOAN  was  idling  dispiritedly  over  her  breakfast.  A 
long,  wakeful  night  had  at  last  ended  in  the  usual  aching 
head  and  eyes  ringed  with  shadows.  She  felt  dreary, 
and  looked  forward  drearily  to  inspecting  her  farm — 
which,  in  her  normal  state,  would  have  inspired  nothing 
but  perfect  delight — with  something  like  apprehension. 

Her  beginning  in  the  new  life  had  been  swamped  in  a 
series  of  disastrous  events  which  left  her  convinced  of  the 
impossibility  of  escape  from  the  painful  shadow  of  the 
past.  All  night  her  brain  had  been  whirling  in  a  perfect 
chaos  of  thought  as  she  reviewed  her  advent  to  the  farm. 
There  had  been  nothing,  from  her  point  of  view,  but 
disaster  upon  disaster.  First  her  arrival.  Then — why, 
then  the  "  luck  "  of  the  gold  find.  In  her  eyes,  what  was 
that  but  the  threat  of  disaster  to  come?  Had  not  her 
aunt  told  her  that  this  extraordinary  luck  that  she  must 
ever  bring  was  part  of  the  curse  shadowing  her  life? 
Then  the  coincidence  of  her  nickname.  It  was  truly 
hideous.  The  very  incongruity  of  it  made  it  seem  the 
most  terrible  disaster  of  all.  Surely,  more  than  anything 
else,  it  pointed  the  hand  of  Fate.  It  was  her  father's 
nickname  for  her,  and  he — he  had  been  the  worst  suflerei 
at  her  hands. 

The  whole  thing  seemed  so  hopeless,  so  useless.  What 
was  the  use  of  her  struggle  against  this  hateful  fate  ?  A 


A  WHIRLWIND  VISIT  159 

spirit  of  rebellion  urged  her,  and  she  felt  half-inclined  to 
abandon  herself  to  the  life  that  was  hers ;  to  harden  her- 
self, and,  taking  the  cup  life  offered  her,  drain  it  to  the 
dregs.  Why  should  she  waste  her  life  battling  with  a 
force  which  seemed  all-powerful?  Why  should  she  sub- 
mit to  the  terror  of  it  ?  What  were  the  affairs  of  these 
others  to  her?  She  was  not  responsible.  Nothing  in  the 
whole  sane  world  of  ethics  could  hold  her  responsible. 

The  spirit  of  rebellion,  for  the  moment,  obtained  the 
upper  hand.  She  had  youth ;  Fortune  had  bestowed  a 
face  and  figure  upon  her  that  she  need  not  be  ashamed 
of,  and  a  healthy  capacity  for  enjoyment.  Then  why 
should  she  abandon  all  these  gifts  because  of  a  fate  for 
which  she  was  in  no  way  responsible  ? 

She  pushed  back  her  chair  from  the  table,  and  crossed 
to  the  open  front  door. 

The  sun  was  not  yet  up,  and  the  morning  air  was 
dewy  and  fresh  with  perfumes  such  as  she  had  never 
experienced  in  St.  Ellis.  It  was — yes,  it  was  good  to  be 
alive  on  such  a  day  in  spite  of  everything. 

She  glanced  out  over  the  little  farm — her  farm.  Yes, 
it  was  all  hers,  bought  and  paid  for,  and  she  still  had 
money  for  all  her  needs  and  to  do  those  things  she 
wanted  to  do.  She  turned  away  and  looked  back  into 
the  little  parlor  with  its  simple  furnishings,  its  mannish 
odds  and  ends  upon  the  wall.  She  heard  the  sounds  of 
the  old  housekeeper  busy  in  her  heavy,  blundering  way 
with  the  domestic  work  of  her  home.  She  had  so  many 
plans  for  the  future,  and  every  one  in  its  inception  had 
given  her  the  greatest  delight.  Now — now  this  hideous 
skeleton  had  stepped  from  its  cupboard  and  robbed  her 
of  every  joy.  No,  she  would  not  stand  it.  She  would 


160  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

.: 

steel  her  heart  to  these  stupid,  girlish  superstitions.  She 
would  — 

Her  gloomy  reflections  were  abruptly  cut  short.  There 
was  a  rush  and  clatter.  In  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  haste 
a  horseman  dashed  up,  dragged  his  horse  back  on 
to  its  haunches  as  he  pulled  up,  and  flung  out  of  the 
saddle. 

It  was  the  boy,  Montana  Ike.  He  grabbed  his  dis- 
reputable hat  from  his  ginger  head,  and  stared  agape  at 
the  vision  of  loveliness  he  had  come  in  search  of. 

"  Good — good-morning,"  Joan  said,  hardly  knowing 
how  to  greet  this  strange  apparition. 

The  boy  nodded,  and  moistened  his  lips  as  though  con- 
sumed by  a  sudden  thirst. 

For  a  moment  they  stared  stupidly  at  each  other. 
Then  Joan,  feeling  the  awkwardness  of  the  situation,  en- 
deavored to  relieve  it. 

"  Daylight  ?  "  she  exclaimed  interrogatively,  "  and  you 
not  yet  out  at  the — where  the  gold  is?'' 

Ike  shook  his  head  and  grinned  the  harder.  Then  his 
tongue  loosened,  and  his  words  came  with  a  sudden  rush 
that  left  the  girl  wondering. 

"  Y'  see  the  folks  is  eatin'  breakfast,"  he  said.  "  Y'  see 
I  jest  cut  it  right  out,  an'  come  along.  I  heard  Pete — 
you  know  Blue  Grass  Pete — he's  a  low-down  Kentuckian 
— he  said  he  tho't  some  un  orter  git  around  hyar  case 
you  was  queer  after  last  night.  Sed  he  guessed  he 
would,  Guess  I'll  git  back  'fore  they're  busy.  It'll  take 
'em  all  hustlin'  to  git  ahead  o'  me." 

"  That's  very  kind,"  Joan  replied  mechanically.  But 
the  encouragement  was  scarcely  needed.  The  boy  rushed 
on,  like  a  river  in  flood  time. 


A  WHIRLWIND  VISIT  161 

"Oh,  it  ain't  zac'ly  kind!"  he  said.  "Y'  see  they're 
mostly  a  low-down  lot,  an'  Pete's  the  low-downest.  He's 
bad,  is  Pete,  an'  ain't  no  bizness  around  a  leddy.  Then 
Beasley  Melford.  He's  jest  a  durned  skunk  anyways. 
Don't  guess  Curly  Saunders  ain't  much  account  neither. 
He  makes  you  sick  to  death  around  a  whisky  bottle. 
Abe  Allinson,  he's  sort  o'  mean,  too.  Y'  see  Abe's  Slaney 
Dick's  pardner,  an'  they  bin  workin'  gold  so  long  they 
ain't  got  a  tho't  in  their  gray  heads  'cep'  gold  an'  rot-gut 
rye.  Still,  they're  better'n  the  Kid.  The  Kid's  soft, 
so  we  call  him  Soapy.  Guess  you  orter  know  'em  all 
right  away.  Y'  see  it's  easy  a  gal  misbelievin'  the  rights 
o'  folks." 

Joan  smiled.  Something  of  the  man's  object  was  be- 
coming plain. 

She  studied  his  face  while  he  was  proceeding  to 
metaphorically  nail  up  each  of  these  men's  coffins,  and 
the  curious  animal  alertness  of  it  held  her  interest.  His 
eyes  were  wide  and  restless,  and  a  hardness  marked  the 
corners  of  his  rather  loose  mouth.  She  wondered  if  that 
hardness  were  natural,  or  whether  it  had  been  acquired 
in  the  precarious  life  that  these  people  lived. 

"  It's  just  as  well  to  know — everybody,"  she  said 
gently. 

"  Oh,  it  sure  is,  in  a  country  like  this,"  the  man  went 
on  confidently.  "  That's  why  I  come  along.  Fellers 
chasin'  gold  is  a  hell  of  a  bad  outfit.  Y'  see,  I  ain't  bin 
long  chasin'  gold,  an'  I  don't  figger  to  keep  at  it  long 
neither.  Y'  see,  I  got  a  good  claim.  Guess  it's  sure  the 
best.  We  drew  lots  for  'em  last  night.  It  was  the  Padre 
fixed  that  up.  He's  a  great  feller,  the  Padre.  An'  I  got 
the  best  one — wher'  the  Padre  found  that  nugget  you  got. 


162  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Oh,  I'm  lucky — dead  lucky  J  Guess  I'll  git  a  pile  out  o* 
my  claim,  sure.  A  great  big  pile.  Then  I'm  goin'  to 
live  swell  in  a  big  city  an'  have  a  great  big  outfit  of  folks 
workin'  fer  me.  An'  I'll  git  hooked  up  with  a  swell  gal. 
It'll  be  a  bully  proposition.  Guess  the  gal'll  be  lucky, 
cos  I'll  have  such  a  big  pile." 

The  youngster's  enthusiasm  and  conceit  were  astound- 
ing. Nor  could  Joan  help  the  coldness  they  inspired  in 
her  voice. 

"  She  will  be  lucky — marrying  you,"  she  agreed.  "  But 
— aren't  you  afraid  you'll  miss  something  if  the  others  get 
out  to  the  hill  before  you  ?  I  mean,  they  being  such  a  bad 
lot." 

The  man  became  serious  for  a  second  before  he  an- 
swered. Then,  in  a  moment,  his  face  brightened  into  a 
grin  of  confidence. 

"Course  you  can't  trust  'em,"  he  said,  quite  missing 
Joan's  desire  to  be  rid  of  him.  "  But  I  don't  guess  any 
of  'em's  likely  to  try  monkey  tricks.  Guess  if  any  feller 
robbed  me  I'd  shoot  him  down  in  his  tracks.  They  know 
that,  sure.  Oh,  no,  they  won't  play  no  monkey  tricks. 
An'  anyway,  I  ain't  givin'  'em  a  chance." 

He  moved  toward  his  horse  and  replaced  the  reins  over 
its  neck  in  spite  of  his  brave  words.  Joan  understood. 
She  saw  the  meanness  underlying  his  pretended  solicita- 
tion for  her  well-being.  All  her  sex  instincts  were 
aroused,  and  she  quite  understood  the  purpose  of  the 
somewhat  brutal  youth. 

"  You're  quite  right  to  give  them  no  chances,"  she 
said  coldly.  "  And  now,  I  s'pose,  you're  going  right  out 
to  your  claim?" 

"  I   am   that,"    exclaimed   the  other,  with  a  gleam  of 


A  WHIRLWIND  VISIT  163 

cupidity  in  his  shifty  eyes.  "  I'm  goin'  right  away  to  dig 
lumps  of  gold  fer  to  buy  di'monds  fer  that  gal." 

He  laughed  uproariously  at  his  pleasantry  as  he  leapt 
into  the  saddle.  But  in  a  moment  his  mirth  had  passed, 
and  his  whole  expression  suddenly  hardened  as  he  bent 
down  from  the  saddle. 

"  But  ef  Pete  comes  around  you  git  busy  an'  boot  him 
right  out.  Pete's  bad — a  real  bad  un.  He's  wuss'n 
Beasley.  Wai,  I  won't  say  he's  wuss.  But  he's  as  bad. 
Git  me?" 

Joan  nodded.  She  had  no  alternative.  The  fellow 
sickened  her.  She  had  been  ready  to  meet  him  as  one  of 
these  irresponsible  people,  ignorant,  perhaps  dissipated, 
but  at  least  well-meaning.  But  here  she  found  the  lower, 
meaner  traits  of  manhood  she  thought  were  only  to 
be  found  amongst  the  dregs  of  a  city.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  experience,  and  she  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  him. 

"  I  think  I  understand.     Good-bye." 

"  You're  a  bright  gal,  you  sure  are,"  the  youth  vouch- 
safed cordially.  "I  guessed  you'd  understand.  I  like 
gals  who  understand  quick.  That's  the  sort  o'  gal  I'm 
goin'  to  hitch  up  with."  He  grinned,  and  crushed  his 
hat  well  down  on  his  head.  "  Wai,  so  long.  See  you 
ag'in.  Course  I  can't  git  around  till  after  I  finish  on  my 
claim.  Guess  you  won't  feel  lonesome  tho',  you  got  to 
git  your  farm  fixed  right.  Wai,  so  long." 

Joan  nodded  as  the  man  rode  off,  thankful  for  the  ter- 
mination of  his  vicious,  whirlwind  visit.  Utterly  dis- 
gusted, she  turned  back  to  the  house  to  find  Mrs.  Rans- 
ford  standing  in  the  doorway, 

"  What's  he  want?  "  the  old  woman  demanded  in  her 
most  uncompromising  manner 


1 64  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

The  girl  laughed  mirthlessly. 

"I  think  he  wants  a  little  honesty  and  kindliness 
knocked  into  his  very  warped  nature,"  she  declared,  with 
a  sigh. 

"Warped?  Warped?"  The  old  woman  caught  at 
the  word,  and  it  seemed  to  set  her  groping  in  search  of 
adequate  epithets  in  which  to  express  her  feelings.  "  I 
don't  know  what  that  means.  But  he's  it  anyways — they 
all  are." 

And  she  vanished  again  into  the  culinary  kingdom 
over  which  she  presided. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  CLAIMS  OF  DUTY 

HALF  an  hour  later  Joan  left  the  house  for  the  barn. 

In  that  brief  space  she  had  lived  through  one  of  those 
swiftly-passing"  epochs  in  human  life  when  mind,  heart 
and  inclination  are  brought  into  something  approaching 
actual  conflict.  But,  stern  as  the  fight  with  weakness 
had  been,  she  had  emerged  chastened  and  victorious. 
Realization  had  come  to  her — realization  of  whither  her 
troubles  had  been  leading  her.  She  knew  she  must  not 
abandon  herself  to  the  selfishness  which  her  brief  rebellion 
had  prompted.  She  was  young,  inexperienced,  and  of  a 
highly-sensitive  temperament,  but  she  was  not  weak. 
And  it  was  this  fact  which  urged  her  now.  Metaphor- 
ically speaking,  she  had  determined  to  tackle  life  with 
shirt  sleeves  rolled  up. 

She  knew  that  duty  was  not  only  duty,  but  something 
which  was  to  yield  her  a  measure  of  happiness.  She 
knew,  too,  that  duty  was  not  only  to  be  regarded  from  a 
point  of  view  of  its  benefit  to  others.  There  was  a  duty 
to  oneself — which  must  not  be  claimed  for  the  sin  of  self- 
ishness— just  as  surely  as  to  others  ;  that  in  its  thorough- 
ness of  performance  lay  the  secret  of  all  that  was 
worth  having  in  life,  and,,  that  the  disobedience  of  the 
laws  of  such  duty,  the  neglect  of  them,  was  to  outrage 
the  canons  of  all  life's  ethics,  and  to  bring  down  upon 
the  head  of  the  offender  the  inevitable  punishment. 

She  must  live  her  life  calmly,  honestly,  whatever  the 


1 66  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

fate  hanging  over  her.  That  was  the  first  and  most 
important  decision  she  arrived  at.  She  must  not  weakly 
yield  to  panic  inspired  by  superstitious  dread.  To  do  so 
was,  she  felt,  to  undermine  her  whole  moral  being.  She 
must  ignore  this  shadow,  she  must  live  a  life  that  defied 
its  power.  And  when  the  cloud  grew  too  black,  if  that 
method  were  not  sufficient  to  dispel  it,  she  must  appeal 
for  alleviation  and  support  from  that  Power  which  would 
never  deny  its  weak  and  helpless  creatures.  She  knew 
that  human  endurance  of  suffering  was  intended  to  be 
limited,  and  that  when  that  limit  was  honestly  reached 
support  was  still  waiting  for  the  sufferer. 

Thus  she  left  the  house  in  a  chastened  spirit,  and  once 
more  full  of  youthful  courage.  The  work,  the  new  life 
she  had  chosen  for  herself,  must  fill  every  moment  of  her 
waking  hours.  And  somehow  she  felt  that  with  her 
stern  resolve  had  come  a  foretaste  of  that  happiness  she 
demanded  of  life.  Her  spirits  rose  as  she  neared  the 
barn,  and  a  wild  excitement  filled  her  as  she  contem- 
plated a  minute  inspection  of  her  belongings  and  her 
intention  to  personally  minister  to  their  wants. 

Something  of  the  instinct  of  motherhood  stirred  in  her 
veins  at  the  thought.  These  were  hers  to  care  for — hers 
to  attend  and  "  do  "  for.  She  laughed  as  she  thought  of 
the  family  awaiting  her.  What  a  family.  Yes,  why 
not  ?  These  creatures  were  for  the  guardianship  of  the 
human  race.  With  all  their  physical  might  they  were 
helpless  dependents  on  human  aid.  Yes,  they  must 
be  thought  for  and  cared  for,  They  were  her  family. 
And  she  laughed  again. 

The  barn  was  a  sturdy  building.  Nor  was  it  unpictur- 
esque  with  its  solid,  dovetailed  lateral  logs  and  heavy 


THE  CLAIMS  OF  DUTY  167 

thatched  roof.  She  saw  that  it  was  built  with  the  same 
care  and  finish  as  the  house  that  was  now  her  home. 
She  could  not  help  wondering  at  the  manner  of  man  who 
had  designed  and  built  it.  She  saw  in  it  such  deliberate- 
ness,  such  skill.  There  was  nothing  here  of  the  slap-dash 
prairie  carpenter  she  had  read  of — the  man  who  flung  up 
buildings  simply  for  the  needs  of  the  moment.  These 
were  buildings  that  might  last  for  ages  and  still  retain  all 
their  original  weather-proof  comfort  for  the  creatures  they 
sheltered.  She  felt  pleased  with  this  man  Moreton 
Kenyon. 

She  passed  round  the  angle  of  the  building  to  the 
doorway,  and  paused  for  a  moment  to  admire  the  scheme 
of  the  farm.  Every  building  fronted  on  a  largish  open 
space,  which  was  split  by  the  waters  of  Yellow  Creek, 
beyond  which  lay  the  corrals.  Here  was  forethought. 
The  operative  part  of  the  farm  was  hidden  from  the 
house,  and  every  detail  of  it  was  adjacent  one  to  another. 
There  was  the  wagon  shed  with  a  wagon  in  it,  and  har- 
vesting implements  stabled  in  perfect  order.  There  were 
the  hog-pens,  the  chicken-houses  ;  the  sheds  for  milch 
cows.  There  was  the  barn  and  the  miniature  grain  store  ; 
then,  across  the  creek,  a  well,  with  accompanying  drink- 
ing-trough,  corrals  with  lowing  kine  in  them  ;  a  branding 
cage.  And  beyond  these  she  could  see  a  vista  of  fenced 
pastures. 

As  she  stood  reveling  in  the  survey  of  her  little  pos- 
session the  thought  recurred  to  her  that  this  was  hers,  all 
hers.  It  was  the  home  of  her  family,  and  she  laughed 
still  more  happily  as  she  passed  into  the  barn. 

Pushing  the  door  open  she  found  herself  greeted  in  the 
half-light  by  a  chorus  of  equine  whinnying  such  as  she 


1 68  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

had  never  before  experienced,  and  the  sound  thrilled  her. 
There  stood  the  team  of  great  Clydesdale  horses,  their 
long,  riddle  heads  turned  round  staring  at  her  with  softly 
inquiring  eyes.  She  wanted  to  cry  out  in  her  joy,  but, 
restraining  herself,  walked  up  beside  the  nearest  of  them 
and  patted  its  glossy  sides.  Her  touch  was  a  caress  which 
more  than  gave  expression  to  her  delight. 

Those  were  precious  moments  to  Joan.  They  were  so 
precious,  indeed,  that  she  quite  forgot  the  purpose  which 
had  brought  her  there.  She  forgot  that  it  was  hers  to 
tend  and  feed  these  great,  helpless  creatures.  It  was 
enough  for  her  to  sit  on  the  swinging  bail  between  the 
stalls,  and  revel  in  the  gentle  nuzzling  of  two  velvety  noses. 
In  those  first  moments  her  sensations  were  unforgettable. 
The  joy  of  it  all  held  her  in  its  thrall,  and,  for  the  moment 
at  least,  there  was  nothing  else  in  the  world. 

The  moments  passed  unheeded.  Every  sound  was  lost 
to  her.  And  so  it  came  about  that  she  did  not  hear  the 
galloping  of  a  horse  approaching.  She  did  not  hear  it 
come  to  a  halt  near  by.  She  did  not  even  notice  the  fig- 
ure that  presently  filled  the  doorway.  And  only  did  her 
first  realization  of  the  intrusion  come  with  the  pleasant 
sound  of  a  man's  deep  voice. 

"  Bob  an'  Kitty's  kind  o'  friendly,  Miss  Joan,"  it  said. 

The  girl  turned  with  a  jump  and  found  herself  con- 
fronted by  Buck's  smiling  face.  And  oddly  enough  her 
first  flash  of  thought  was  that  this  man  had  used  her  own 
name,  and  not  her  nickname,  and  she  was  grateful  to  him. 

Then  she  saw  that  he  had  the  fork  in  his  hand  with 
which  she  had  first  seen  him,  and  she  remembered  his 
overnight  promise  to  do  those  very  things  for  her  which 
she  had  set  out  to  do,  but,  alas  !  had  forgotten  all  about. 


THE  CLAIMS  OF  DUTY  169 

His  presence  became  a  reproach  at  once,  and  a  slight 
pucker  of  displeasure  drew  her  even  brows  together. 

"You're  very  kind,"  she  began,  "but " 

Buck's  smile  broadened. 

"  '  But's  '  a  ter'ble  word,"  he  said.  "  It  most  always 
goes  ahead  of  something  unpleasant."  He  quietly  laid 
the  fork  aside,  and,  gathering  an  armful  of  hay,  proceeded 
to  fill  Kitty's  manger.  "Now  what  you  wer*  going  to 
say  was  something  like  that  old — I  mean  your  house- 
keeper— said,  only  you  wouldn't  say  it  so  mean.  You 
jest  want  to  say  I'm  not  to  git  around  doing  the  chores 
here  for  the  reason  you  can't  accept  favors,  an'  you  don't 
guess  it  would  be  right  to  offer  me  pay,  same  as  a  '  hired ' 
man." 

He  hayed  Bob's  manger,  and  then  loosened  both  horses' 
collar  chains. 

'•  If  you'll  sit  on  the  oat-box  I'll  turn  'em  round  an'  take 
rem  to  water  at  the  trough.  That's  it." 

Joan  obeyed  him  without  a  word,  and  the  horses  were 
led  out.  And  while  they  were  gone  the  girl  was  left  to  an 
unpleasant  contemplation  of  the  situation.  She  deter- 
mined to  deal  with  the  matter  boldly,  however,  and  began 
the  moment  he  returned. 

"  You're  quite  right,  Mr.  luck,"  she  began. 

"  Buck — jest  plain  Buck,"  he  interrupted  her.  "  But  I 
hadn't  jest  finished,"  he  went  on  deliberately.  "  I  want  to 
show  you  how  you  can't  do  those  things  the  old — your 
housekeeper  was  yearnin'  to  do.  Y'  s«e,  you  can't  get  a 
4  hired '  man  nearer  th*a  Leeson  Butte.  You  can't  get 
him  in  less'n  two  weeks.  You  can't  do  the  chores  your- 
self, an'  that  old — your  housekeeper  ain't  fit  to  do  any- 
thing but  make  hash.  Then  you  can't  let  the  stock  go 


i;o  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

hungry.  Besides  all  of  which  you're  doing  me  a  real 
kindness  letting  me  help  you  out.  Ther's  no  favor  to  you. 
It's  sure  to  me,  an'  these  creatures  which  can't  do  things 
for  themselves.  So  it  would  be  a  sound  proposition  to 
cut  that  '  but '  right  out  of  our  talk  an'  send  word  to  your 
lawyer  feller  in  Leeson  Butte  for  a  '  hired '  man.  An' 
when  he  gits  around,  why — well,  you  won't  be  needin* 
me." 

All  the  time  he  was  speaking  his  fork  was  busy  clearing 
the  stalls  of  their  litter,  and,  at  the  finish,  he  leant  on  the 
haft  of  it  and  quizzically  smiled  into  the  girl's  beautiful, 
half-troubled  face. 

Joan  contemplated  protesting,  but  somehow  his  manner 
was  so  friendly,  so  frank  and  honest,  that  she  felt  it  would 
be  ungracious  of  her.  Finally  he  won  the  day,  and  she 
broke  into  a  little  laugh  of  yielding. 

"  You  talk  too — too  well  for  me,"  she  cried.  "  I  oughtn't 
to  accept,"  she  added.  "  I  know  I  oughtn't,  but  what  am 
I  to  do?  I  can't  do — these  things."  Then  she  added 
regretfully  :  "  And  I  thought  it  would  be  all  so  simple." 

Buck  saw  her  disappointment,  and  it  troubled  him.  He 
felt  in  a  measure  responsible,  so  he  hastened  to  make 
amends. 

"  Wai,  y'  see,  men  are  rough  an*  strong.  They  can  do 
the  things  needed  around  a  farm.  I  don't  guess  women 
wer'  made  for — for  the  rough  work  of  life.  It  ain't  a 
thing  to  feel  mean  about.  It's  jest  in  the  nature  of 
things." 

Joan  nodded.  All  the  time  he  was  speaking  she  had 
been  studying  him,  watching  the  play  of  expression  upon 
his  mobile  features  rather  than  paying  due  attention  to  his 
words. 


THE  CLAIMS  OF  DUTY  171 

She  decided  that  she  liked  the  look  of  him.  It  was  not 
that  he  was  particularly  handsome.  He  seemed  so  strong, 
and  yet  so — so  unconcerned.  She  wondered  if  that  were 
only  his  manner.  She  knew  that  often  volcanic  natures, 
reckless,  were  hidden  under  a  perfect  calm.  She  won- 
dered if  it  were  so  in  his  case.  His  eyes  were  so  full  of  a 
brilliant  dark  light.  Yes,  surely  this  man  roused  might 
be  an  interesting  personality.  She  remembered  him  last 
night.  She  remembered  the  strange,  superheated  fire  in 
those  same  eyes  when  he  had  hurled  the  gold  at  her  feet. 
Yes,  she  felt  sure  a  tremendous  force  lay  behind  his  calm- 
ness of  manner. 

The  man's  thoughts  were  far  less  analytical.  His  was 
not  the  nature  to  search  the  psychology  of  a  beautiful  girl. 
To  him  Joan  was  the  most  wonderful  thing  on  earth. 
She  was  something  to  be  reverenced,  to  be  worshipped. 
His  imagination,  fired  by  all  his  youthful  impulse,  en- 
dowed her  with  every  gift  that  the  mind  of  simple  man- 
hood could  conceive,  every  virtue,  every  beauty  of  mind 
as  well  as  body. 

Joan  watched  him  for  some  moments  as  he  continued 
his  work.  It  was  wonderful  how  easy  he  made  it  seem, 
how  quickly  it  was  done.  She  even  found  herself  regret- 
ting that  in  a  few  minutes  the  morning  "  chores  "  would 
be  finished,  and  this  man  would  be  away  to — where  ? 

"  You  must  have  been  up  very  early  to  get  over  here," 
she  said  designedly.  Her  girlish  curiosity  and  interest 
could  no  longer  be  denied.  She  must  find  out  what  he 
was  and  what  he  did  for  a  living. 

"  I'm  mostly  up  early,"  he  replied  simply. 

"  Yes,  of  course.  But — you  have  your  own — stock  to 
see  to  ?  " 


THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

She  felt  quite  pleased  with  her  cunning.  But  her  pleas- 
ure was  short-lived. 

"  Sure,"  he  returned,  with  disarming  frankness. 

"  It  really  doesn't  seem  fair  that  you  should  have  the 
double  work,"  she  went  on,  with  another  attempt  to  pene- 
trate his  reserve. 

Buck's  smile  was  utterly  baffling.  He  walked  to  the 
door  of  the  barn  and  gave  a  prolonged,  low  whistle.  Then 
he  came  back. 

"  It  sure  wouldn't  be  fair  if  I  didn't,"  he  said  simply. 

"  But  you  must  have  heaps  to  do  on  your — farm,"  Joan 
went  on,  feeling  that  she  was  on  the  right  track  at  last. 
"  Look  at  what  you're  doing  for  me.  These  horses,  the 
cattle,  the — the  pigs  and  things.  I've  no  doubt  you  have 
much  more  to  see  to  of  your  own." 

At  that  moment  the  head  of  Caesar  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  He  stared  round  the  familiar  stable  evidently 
searching  for  his  master.  Finally  catching  sight  of  him, 
he  clattered  in  to  the  place  and  rubbed  his  handsome  head 
against  Buck's  shoulder. 

"  This  is  my  stock,"  Buck  said,  affectionately  rubbing 
the  creature's  nose.  "  An'  I  generally  manage  to  see  to 
him  while  the  kettle's  boilin'  for  breakfast." 

Just  for  a  moment  Joan  felt  abashed  at  her  deliberate 
attempt  to  pump  her  companion.  Then  the  quick,  in- 
quiring survey  of  the  beautiful  horse  was  too  much  for 
her,  and  she  left  her  seat  to  join  in  the  caresses. 

"  Isn't  he  a  beauty  ? "  she  cried,  smoothing  his  silken 
face  from  the  star  on  his  forehead  to  the  tip  of  his  wide 
muzzle. 

Just  for  a  second  her  hand  came  into  contact  with  the 
man's,  and,  all  unconscious,  she  let  it  remain.  Then  sud- 


THE  CLAIMS  OF  DUTY  173 

denly  realizing  the  position  she  drew  it  away  rather 
sharply. 

Buck  made  no  move,  but  had  she  only  looked  up  she 
must  have  noted  the  sudden  pallor  of  his  face.  That 
brief  touch,  so  unconscious,  so  unmeaning,  had  again  set 
his  pulses  hammering  through  his  body.  And  it  had 
needed  all  his  control  to  repress  the  fiery  impulse  that 
stirred  him.  He  longed  to  kiss  that  soft  white  hand.  He 
longed  to  take  it  in  his  own  strong  palms  and  hold  it  for 
his  own,  to  keep  it  forever.  But  the  moment  passed,  and 
when  he  spoke  it  was  in  the  same  pleasant,  easy  fashion. 

"  I  kind  o'  thought  I  ought  to  let  him  go  with  the 
farm,"  he  said,  "  only  the  Padre  wouldn't  think  of  it.  He'd 
have  made  a  dandy  feller  for  you  to  ride." 

But  Joan  was  up  in  arms  in  a  moment. 

"I'd  never  have  forgiven  you  if  you'd  parted  with  him," 
she  cried.  "  He's — he's  perfectly  beautiful." 

Buck  nodded. 

"  He's  a  good  feller."  And  his  tone  said  far  more  than 
his  words. 

He  led  the  beast  to  the  door,  and,  giving  him  an  affec- 
tionate slap,  sent  him  trotting  off. 

"  I  must  git  busy,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  The  hay 
needs  cuttin'.  Guess  I'll  cut  till  dinner.  After  that  I've 
got  to  quit  till  sundown.  Til  go  right  on  cuttin'  each 
mornin'  till  your  '  hired '  man  comes  along.  Y'  see  if  it 
ain't  cut  now  we'll  be  too  late.  I'll  just  throw  the  harness 
on  Kitty  an'  Bob  an'  leave  'em  to  git  through  with  their 
feed  while  I  see  the  hogs  fed.  Guess  that  old — your 
housekeeper  can  milk  ?  I  ran  the  cows  into  the  corral  as 
I  came  up.  Seems  to  me  she  could  do  most  things  she 
got  fixed  on  doing." 


174  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Joan  laughed. 

"She  was  'fixed'  on  sending  you  about  what  she  called 
'  your  business/  "  she  said  slyly. 

Buck  raised  his  brows  in  mock  chagrin. 

"  Guess  she  succeeded,  too.  I  sure  got  busy  right  away 
— until  you  come  along,  and — and  got  mequittin'V 

"  Oh!"  Joan  stared  at  him  with  round  eyes  of  reproach. 
Then  she  burst  out  laughing.  "  Well,  now  you  shall  hear 
the  truth  for  that,  and  you'll  have  to  answer  me  too,  Mr. 
Buck." 

"  Buck — jest  plain  Buck." 

The  girl  made  an  impatient  little  movement. 

"  Well,  then,  '  Buck.'  I  simply  came  along  to  thank 
you,  and  to  tell  you  that  I  couldn't  allow  your  help — ex- 
cept as  a  '  hired  '  man.  And — I'm  afraid  you'll  think  me 
very  curious — I  came  to  find  out  who  you  were,  and  how 
you  came  to  find  me  and  bring  me  home  here.  And — 
and  I  wanted  to  know — well,  everything  about  my  ar- 
rival. And  you — you've  made  it  all  very  difficult.  You 
— insist  on  doing  all  this  for  me.  You're — you're  not  so 
kind  as  I  thought." 

Joan's  complaint  was  made  half-laughingly  and  half- 
seriously.  Buck  saw  the  reality  underlying  her  words, 
but  determined  to  ignore  it  and  only  answer  her  lighter 
manner. 

"  If  you'd  only  asked  me  these  things  I'd  have  told  you 
right  away,"  he  protested,  smiling.  "  Y'  see  you  never 
asked  me." 

"  I — I  was  trying  to,"  Joan  said  feebly. 

Buck  paused  in  the  act  of  securing  Kitty's  harness. 

"  That  old — your  housekeeper  wouldn't  ha'  spent  a  deal 
of  time  trying,"  he  said  dryly. 


THE  CLAIMS  OF  DUTY  175 

Joan  ignored  the  allusion. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  intend  to  tell  me  now,"  she  said. 

Buck  left  the  stall  and  stood  before  the  corn-box.  His 
eyes  were  still  smiling  though  his  manner  was  tremendously 
serious. 

"  You're  wantin'  to  know  who  I  am,"  he  said.  Then  he 
paused,  glancing  out  of  the  doorway,  and  the  girl  watched 
the  return  of  that  thoughtful  expression  which  she  had 
come  to  associate  with  his  usual  manner.  "  Wai,"  he  said 
at  last,  in  his  final  way,  "  Pm  Buck,  and  I  was  picked  up 
on  the  trail-side,  starving,  twenty  years  ago  by  the  Padre. 
He's  raised  me,  an'  we're  big  friends.  An'  now,  since  we 
sold  his  farm,  we're  living  at  the  old  fur  fort,  back  ther'  in 
the  hills,  and  we're  goin'  to  get  a  living  pelt  hunting. 
Pve  got  no  folks,  an'  no  name  except  Buck.  I  was  called 
Buck.  All  I  can  remember  is  that  my  folks  were  farmers, 
but  got  burnt  out  in  a  prairie  fire,  and — burnt  to  death. 
That's  why  I  was  on  the  trail  starving  when  the  Padre 
found  me." 

Joan's  eyes  had  softened  with  a  gentle  sympathy,  but  she 
offered  no  word. 

"  'Bout  the  other,"  the  man  went  on,  turning  back  to 
the  girl,  and  letting  his  eyes  rest  on  her  fair  face,  "  that's 
easy,  too.  I  was  at  the  shack  of  the  boys  in  the  storm. 
You  come  along  an?  wer'  lying  right  ther'  on  the  door-sill 
when  I  found  you.  I  jest  carried  you  right  here.  Y'  see, 
I  guessed  who  you  wer'.  Your  cart  was  wrecked  on  the 
bank  o'  the  creek " 

"  And  the  teamster  ?  "  Joan's  eyes  were  eagerly  appeal- 
ing. 

Buck  turned  away. 

"  Oh,   guess  he  was  ther'   too."     Then   he  abruptly 


i;6  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

moved  toward  the  horses.  "  Say,  I'll  get  on  an'  cut  that 
hay." 

Joan  understood.  She  knew  that  the  teamster  was  dead. 
She  sighed  deeply,  and  as  the  sound  reached  him  Buck 
looked  round.  It  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  say 
some  word  of  comfort,  for  he  knew  that  Joan  had  under- 
stood that  the  man  was  dead,  but  the  girl  herself,  under 
the  influence  of  her  new  resolve,  made  it  unnecessary. 
She  rose  from  her  seat,  and  her  manner  suggested  a 
forced  lightness. 

"  I'll  go  and  feed  the  chickens,"  she  said.  "  I — I  ought 
to  be  capable  of  doing  that." 

Buck  smiled  as  he  prepared  to  go  and  see  to  the  hogs. 

"  Guess  you  won't  have  trouble — if  you  know  what  to 
give  'em,"  he  said. 

Nor  was  he  quite  sure  if  the  girl  were  angry  or  smiling 
as  she  hurried  out  of  the  barn. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

GOLD  AND  ALLOY 

THE  seedling  of  success  planted  in  rank  soil  generally 
develops  a  wild,  pernicious  growth  which,  until  the  sum- 
mer of  its  life  has  passed,  is  untamable  and  pollutes  all 
that  with  which  it  comes  into  contact.  The  husbandman 
may  pluck  at  its  roots,  but  the  seed  is  flung  broadcast, 
and  he  finds  himself  wringing  his  hands  helplessly  in  the 
wilderness. 

So  it  was  on  the  banks  of  Yellow  Creek.  The  seedling 
was  already  flinging  its  tendrils  and  fastening  tightly  upon 
the  life  of  the  little  camp.  The  change  had  come  within 
three  weeks  of  the  moment  when  the  Padre  had  gazed 
upon  that  first  wonderful  find  of  gold.  So  rapid  was  its 
development  that  it  was  almost  staggering  to  the  man 
who  stood  by  watching  the  result  of  the  news  he  had  first 
carried  to  the  camp. 

The  Padre  wandered  the  hills  with  trap  and  gun. 
Nothing  could  win  him  from  the  pursuit  which  was  his. 
But  his  eyes  were  wide  open  to  those  things  which  had 
somehow  become  the  care  of  his  leisure.  Many  of  his 
evenings  were  spent  in  the  camp,  and  there  he  saw  and 
heard  the  things  which,  in  his  working  moments,  gave 
him  food  for  a  disquietude  of  thought 

He  knew  that  the  luck  that  had  come  to  the  camp  was 
no  ordinary  luck.  His  first  find  had  suggested  something 
phenomenal,  but  it  was  nothing  to  the  reality.  A  wealth 


1/8  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

almost  incalculable  had  been  yielded  by  a  prodigal  Nature. 
Every  claim  into  which  he,  with  the  assistance  of  the  men 
of  the  camp,  had  divided  the  find,  measured  carefully  and 
balloted  for,  was  rich  beyond  all  dreams.  Two  or  three 
were  richer  than  the  others,  but  this  was  the  luck  of  the 
ballot,  and  the  natural  envy  inspired  thereby  was  of  a 
comparatively  harmless  character. 

At  first  the  thought  of  these  things  was  one  of  a  pleasant 
satisfaction.  These  men  had  waited,  and  suffered,  and 
starved  for  their  chance,  and  he  was  glad  their  chance 
had  come.  How  many  had  waited,  and  suffered  and 
starved,  as  they  had  done,  and  done  all  those  things  in 
vain  ?  Yes,  it  was  a  pleasant  thought,  and  it  gave  him 
zest  and  hope  in  his  own  life. 

The  first  days  passed  in  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  joy. 
Where  before  had  sounded  only  the  meanings  of  despair, 
now  the  banks  of  Yellow  Creek  rang  with  laughter  and 
joyous  voices,  bragging,  hoping,  jesting.  One  and  all 
saw  their  long-dimmed  hopes  looming  bright  in  the  pros- 
pect of  fulfilment. 

Then  came  a  change.  Just  at  first  it  was  hardly  notice- 
able. But  it  swiftly  developed,  and  the  shrewd  mind  of 
the  watcher  in  the  hills  realized  that  the  days  of  halcyon 
were  passing  all  too  swiftly.  Men  were  no  longer  satis- 
fied with  hopes.  They  wanted  realities. 

To  want  the  realities  with  their  simple,  unrestrained 
passions,  and  the  means  of  obtaining  them  at  their  dis- 
posal, was  to  demand  them.  To  demand  them  was  to 
have  them.  They  wanted  a  saloon.  They  wanted  an 
organized  means  of  gambling,  they  wanted  a  town,  with 
all  its  means  of  satisfying  appetites  that  had  all  too 
long  hungered  for  what  they  regarded  as  the  necessary 


GOLD  AND  ALLOY  179 

pleasures  of  life.  They  wanted  a  means  of  spending 
the  accumulations  gleaned  from  the  ample  purse  of 
mother  Nature.  And,  in  a  moment,  they  set  about  the 
work  of  possessing  these  things. 

As  is  always  the  case  the  means  was  not  far  to  seek. 
It  needed  but  one  mind,  keener  in  self-interest  than  the 
rest,  and  that  mind  was  to  hand.  Beasley  Melford,  at  no 
time  a  man  who  cared  for  the  physical  hardships  of  the 
life  of  these  people,  saw  his  opportunity  and  snatched  it. 
He  saw  in  it  a  far  greater  gold-mine  than  his  own  claim 
could  ever  yield  him,  and  he  promptly  laid  his  plans. 

He  set  to  work  without  any  noise,  any  fuss.  He  was 
too  foxy  to  shout  until  his  purpose  was  beyond  all  possi- 
bility of  failure.  He  simply  disappeared  from  the  camp 
for  a  week.  His  absence  was  noted,  but  no  one  cared. 
They  were  too  full  of  their  own  affairs.  The  only  people 
who  thought  on  the  matter  were  the  Padre  and  Buck. 
Nor  did  they  speak  of  it  until  he  had  been  missing  four 
days.  Then  it  was,  one  evening  as  they  were  returning 
from  their  traps,  the  Padre  gave  some  inkling  of  what  had 
been  busy  in  his  thoughts  all  day. 

"  It's  queer  about  Beasley,"  he  said,  pausing  to  look 
back  over  a  great  valley  out  of  which  they  had  just 
climbed,  and  beyond  which  the  westering  sun  was  shin- 
ing upon  the  distant  snow-fields. 

Buck  turned  sharply  at  the  sound  of  his  companion's 
voice.  They  were  not  given  to  talking  much  out  on  these 
hills. 

"  He's  been  away  nigh  four  days,"  he  said,  and  took 
the  opportunity  of  shifting  his  burden  of  six  freshly-taken 
fox  pelts  and  lighting  his  pipe. 

The  Padre  nodded. 


I  So  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  I  think  he'll  be  back  soon,"  he  said.  Then  he  added 
slowly  :  "  It  seems  a  pity/' 

"His  coming  back ? "  Buck  eyed  his  companion 
quickly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Wrier*  d'you  reckon  he's  gone?  " 

The  elder  man  raised  a  pair  of  astonished  brows. 

"  Why,  to  Leeson  Butte,"  he  said  decidedly.  Then  he 
irent  on  quietly,  but  with  neither  doubt  nor  hesitation  : 
"  There's  a  real  big  change  coming  here — when  Beasley 
gets  back.  These  men  want  drink,  they  are  getting  rest- 
less for  high  play.  They  are  hankering  for — for  the  flesh- 
pots  they  think  their  gold  entitles  them  to.  Beasley  will 
give  them  all  those  things  when  he  comes  back.  It's  a 
pity." 

Buck  thought  for  some  moments  before  he  answered. 
He  was  viewing  the  prospect  from  the  standpoint  of  his 
years. 

"They  must  sure  have  had  'em  anyway,"  he  said  at  last. 

«  Ye— es." 

The  Padre  understood  what  was  in  the  other's  mind. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on  presently,  "  I  wasn't  thinking  of 
that  so  much.  It's — well,  it  amounts  to  this.  These  poor 
devils  are  just  working  to  fill  Beasley's  pockets.  Beasley's 
the  man  who'll  benefit  by  this  '  strike/  In  a  few  months 
the  others  will  be  on  the  road  again,  going  through  all — 
that  they've  gone  through  before." 

"  I  guess  they  will,"  Buck  agreed.  His  point  of  view 
had  changed.  He  was  seeing  through  the  older  eyes. 
After  that  they  moved  on  toward  their  home  lost  in  the 
thoughts  which  their  brief  talk  had  inspired. 

In  a  few  days  the  Padre's  prophecy  was  fulfilled.     Beas- 


GOLD  AND  ALLOY  181 

ley  returned  from  Leeson  Butte  at  the  head  of  a  small 
convoy.  He  had  contrived  his  negotiations  with  a  won- 
derful skill  and  foresight.  His  whole  object  had  been 
secrecy,  and  this  had  been  difficult.  To  shout  the  wealth 
of  the  camp  in  Leeson  Butte  would  have  been  to  bring 
instantly  an  avalanche  of  adventurers  and  speculators  to 
the  banks  of  Yellow  Creek.  His  capital  was  limited  to 
the  small  amount  he  had  secretly  , hoarded  while  his 
comrades  were  starving,  and  the  gold  he  had  taken 
from  his  claim.  The  latter  was  his  chief  asset  not  from 
its  amount,  but  its  nature.  Therefore  he  had  been  forced 
to  take  the  leading  merchant  in  the  little  prairie  city  into 
his  confidence,  and  to  suggest  a  partnership.  This  he 
had  done,  and  a  plausible  tongue,  and  the  sight  of  the 
wonderful  raw  gold,  had  had  the  effect  he  desired.  The 
partnership  was  arranged,  the  immediate  finance  was 
forthcoming,  and,  for  the  time  at  least,  Leeson  Butte 
was  left  in  utter  ignorance  of  its  neighboring  Eldorado. 

Once  he  had  made  his  deal  with  Silas  McGinnis,  Beas- 
ley  promptly  opened  his  heart  in  characteristic  fashion. 

"  They're  all  sheep,  every  one  of  'em,"  he  beamed  upon 
his  confederate.  "  They'll  be  so  easy  fleecin'  it  seems 
hardly  worth  while.  All  they  need  is  liquor,  and  cards, 
and  dice.  Yes,  an'  a  few  women  hangin'  around.  You 
can  leave  the  rest  to  themselves.  We'll  get  the  gilt, 
and  to  hell  with  the  dough  under  it.  Gee,  it's  an  ele- 
gant proposition  ! "  And  he  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully. 
"  But  ther'  must  be  no  delay.  We  must  get  busy  right 
away  before  folks  get  wind  of  the  luck.  I'll  need  mar- 
quees an'  things  until  I  can  get  a  regular  shanty  set  up. 
Have  you  got  a  wood  spoiler  you  can  trust?" 

McGinnis  nodded. 


1 82  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"Then  weight  him  down  with  money  so  we  don't 
need  to  trust  him  too  much,  and  ship  him  out  with  the 
lumber  so  he  can  begin  right  away.  We're  goin'  to  make 
an  elegant  pile." 

In  his  final  remark  lay  the  key-note  of  his  purpose. 
But  the  truth  of  it  would  have  been  infinitely  more  sure 
had  the  pronoun  been  singular. 

Never  was  so  much  popularity  extended  to  Beasley  in 
his  life  as  at  the  moment  of  his  return  to  camp.  When 
the  gold-seekers  beheld  his  convoy,  with  the  wagons 
loaded  with  all  those  things  their  hearts  and  stomachs 
craved,  the  majority  found  themselves  in  a  condition  al- 
most ready  to  fling  welcoming  arms  about  his  neck. 
Their  wishes  had  been  expressed,  their  demands  made, 
and  now,  here  they  were  fulfilled. 

A  rush  of  trade  began  almost  before  the  storekeeper's 
marquee  was  erected.  It  began  without  regard  to  cost, 
at  least  on  the  purchasers'  parts.  The  currency  was  gold, 
weighed  in  scales  which  Beasley  had  provided,  and  his 
exorbitant  charges  remained  quite  unheeded  by  the  reck- 
less creatures  he  had  marked  down  for  his  victims. 

In  twenty-four  hours  the  camp  was  in  high  revelry. 
In  forty-eight  Beasley's  rough  organization  was  nearing 
completion.  And  long  before  half  those  hours  had  passed 
gold  was  pouring  into  the  storekeeper's  coffers  at  a  pace 
he  had  never  even  dreamed  of. 

But  the  first  rush  was  far  too  strenuous  to  be  maintained 
for  long.  The  strain  was  too  great  even  for  such  wild 
spirits  as  peopled  the  camp.  It  soared  to  its  height  with 
a  dazzling  rapidity,  culminating  in  a  number  of  quarrels 
and  fights,  mixed  up  with  some  incipient  shooting,  after 
which  a  slight  reaction  set  in  which  reduced  it  to  a  simmer 


GOLD  AND  ALLOY  183 

at  a  magnificently  profitable  level  for  the  foxy  store- 
keeper. Still,  there  remained  ample  evidence  that  the 
Devil  was  noting  in  the  camp  and  would  continue  to  do 
so  just  as  long  as  the  lure  of  gold  could  tempt  his  victims. 

Then  came  the  inevitable.  In  a  few  days  it  became  ap- 
parent that  the  news  of  the  "  strike  "  had  percolated  abroad. 
Beasley's  attempt  at  secrecy  had  lasted  him  just  suffi- 
ciently long  to  establish  himself  as  the  chief  trader.  Then 
came  the  rush  from  the  outside. 

It  was  almost  magical  the  change  that  occurred  in  one 
day.  The  place  became  suddenly  alive  with  strangers 
from  Leeson  Butte  and  Bay  Creek,  and  even  farther  afield. 
Legitimate  traders  came  to  spy  out  the  land.  Loafers 
came  in  and  sat  about  waiting  for  developments.  Gam- 
blers, suave,  easy,  ingratiating,  foregathered  and  started 
the  ball  of  high  stakes  rolling.  And  in  their  wake  came 
all  that  class  of  carrion  which  is  ever  seeking  something 
for  nothing.  But  the  final  brand  of  lawlessness  was  set 
on  the  camp  by  the  arrival  of  a  number  of  jaded,  painted 
women,  who  took  up  their  abode  in  a  disused  shack  suffi- 
ciently adjacent  to  Beasley's  store  to  suit  their  purposes. 
It  was  all  very  painful,  all  very  deplorable.  Yet  it  was 
the  perfectly  natural  evolution  of  a  successful  mining 
camp — a  place  where,  before  the  firm  hand  of  Morality  can 
obtain  its  restraining  grip,  human  nature  just  runs  wild. 

The  seedling  had  grown.  Its  rank  tendrils  were  every- 
where reaching  out  and  choking  all  the  better  life  about 
it.  Its  seeds  were  scattered  broadcast  and  had  germinated 
as  only  such  seeds  can.  It  only  remained  for  the  hus- 
bandman to  gaze  regretful  and  impotent  upon  his  handi- 
work. His  hand  had  planted  the  seedling,  and  now — 
already  the  wilderness  was  beyond  all  control. 


1 84  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Something  of  this  was  in  the  Padre's  mind  as  he  sat  in 
his  doorway  awaiting  Buck's  return  for  the  night.  The 
dusk  was  growing,  and  already  the  shadows  within  the 
ancient  stockade  were  black  with  approaching  night. 
The  waiting  man  had  forgotten  his  pipe,  so  deeply  was 
he  engrossed  with  his  thoughts,  and  it  rested  cold  in  his 
powerful  hand. 

He  sat  on  oblivious  of  everything  but  that  chain  of 
calm  reasoning  with  which  he  tried  to  tell  himself  that 
the  things  happening  down  there  on  the  banks  of  the 
Yellow  Creek  must  be.  He  told  himself  that  he  had 
always  known  it ;  that  the  very  fact  of  this  lawlessness 
pointed  the  camp's  prosperity,  and  showed  how  certainly 
the  luck  had  come  to  stay.  Later,  order  would  be  es- 
tablished out  of  the  chaos,  but  for  the  moment  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  but — wait.  All  this  he  told  himself, 
but  it  left  him  dissatisfied,  and  his  thoughts  concentrated 
upon  the  one  person  he  blamed  for  all  the  mischief. 
Beasley  was  the  man — and  he  felt  that  wherever  Beasley 

might  be,  trouble  would  never  be  far What  was 

that? 

An  unusual  sound  had  caught  and  held  his  attention. 
He  rose  quickly  from  his  seat  and  stood  peering-  out  into 
the  darkness  which  he  had  failed  to  notice  creeping  on 
him.  There  was  no  mistaking  it.  The  sound  of  running 
feet  was  quite  plain.  Why  running? 

He  turned  about  and  moved  over  to  the  arm  rack. 
The  next  moment  he  was  in  the  doorway  again  with  his 
Winchester  at  his  side. 

A  few  moments  later  a  short,  stocky  man  leapt  out  of 
the  darkness  and  halted  before  him.  As  the  Padre  recog- 
nized him  his  finger  left  the  trigger  of  his  gun. 


GOLD  AND  ALLOY  185 

"  For  Gawd's  sake  don't  shoot,  Padre  ! " 

It  was  Curly  Saunders'  voice,  and  the  other  laid  his 
gun  aside. 

"  What's  amiss  ? "  demanded  the  Padre,  noting  the 
man's  painful  gasping  for  breath. 

For  a  moment  Curly  hesitated.  Then,  finally,  between 
heavy  breaths  he  answered  the  challenge. 

"  I  got  mad  with  the  Kid — Soapy,"  he  said.  "  Guess 
I  shot  him  up.  He  ain't  dead  an'  ain't  goin'  to  die,  but 
Beasley,  curse  him,  set  'em  on  to  lynch  me.  They're  all 
mad  drunk — guess  I  was,  too,  'fore  I  started  to  run — an* 
they  come  hot  foot  after  me.  I  jest  got  legs  of  'em  an' 
come  along  here.  It's — it's  a  mighty  long  ways." 

The  Padre  listened  without  moving  a  muscle — the 
story  so  perfectly  fitted  in  with  his  thoughts. 

"  The  Kid  isn't  dead  ?  He  isn't  going  to  die  ?  "  His 
voice  had  neither  condemnation  nor  sympathy  in  it. 

"No.  It's  jest  a  flesh  wound  on  the  outside  of  his 
thigh." 

"  What  was  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  durned  young  skunk  wus  jest  tryin'  to  set 
them — them  women  payin'  a  '  party '  call  on  the  gal  at 
the  farm,  an'  they  wus  drunk  enough  to  do  it.  It  made 
me  mad — an' — an',  wal,  we  got  busy  with  our  tongues, 
an'  I  shot  him  up  fair  an'  squar'." 

"  And  how  about  Beasley?" 

"  Why,  it  was  him  set  the  Kid  to  git  the  women  on  the 
racket.  When  he  see  how  I'd  stopped  it  he  got  madder 
than  hell,  an'  went  right  out  fer  lynchin'  me.  The  boys 
wus  drunk  enough  to  listen  to  his  lousy  talk." 

"Was  he  drunk?" 

"Not  on  your  life.     Beasley's  too  sweet  on  the  dollars. 


1 86  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

But  I  guess  he's  got  his  knife  into  that  Golden  Woman 
of  ours." 

The  Padre  had  no  more  questions  to  ask.  He  dropped 
back  into  the  room  and  lit  the  oil  lamp. 

"  Come  right  in,  Curly,"  he  said  kindly.  Then  he  laid 
his  rifle  on  the  table  and  pointed  at  it.  "  The  magazine's 
loaded  plumb  up.  Guess  no  man  has  a  right  to  give  up 
his  life  without  a  kick.  That'll  help  you  if  they  come 
along — which  they  won't  Maybe  Buck'll  be  along 
directly.  Don't  shoot  him  down.  Anyway  he's  got 
Caesar  with  him — so  you'll  know.  I'm  going  down  to  the 
camp." 

For  a  second  the  two  men  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes.  The  Padre  read  the  suspicion  in  Curly's.  He  also 
saw  the  unhealthy  lines  in  his  cheeks  and  round  his 
mouth.  Nor  could  he  help  feeling  disgusted  at  the 
thoughts  of  the  fortune  that  had  come  to  the  camp  and 
brought  all  these  hideous  changes  in  its  wake. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  not  giving  you  away,"  he  said.  "  Guess  I'll  be 
back  in  an  hour." 

Curly  nodded  and  moved  over  to  one  of  the  two 
chairs. 

"  Thanks,  Padre,"  he  said  as  the  other  passed  quickly 
out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

TWO   POINTS  OF  VIEW 

BEASLEY  MELFORD  was  in  a  detestable  mood.  For 
one  reason  his  miserable  bar  was  empty  of  all  customers, 
and,  for  another,  he  knew  that  he  was  responsible  for  the 
fact. 

Had  he  any  sense  of  humor,  the  absurdity  of  the  thing 
must  have  forced  itself  upon  him  and  possibly  helped  to 
improve  his  temper.  But  he  had  no  humor,  and  so 
abandoned  himself  to  the  venomous  temper  that  was  prac- 
tically the  mainspring  of  his  life. 

He  cursed  his  absent  customers.  He  cursed  the  man, 
Curly  Saunders.  He  cursed  the  girl  whom  the  trouble 
had  been  about.  But  more  than  all  he  cursed  himself  for 
his  own  folly  in  permitting  a  desire  to  bait  Joan  Rest  to 
interfere  with  his  business. 

In  his  restless  mood  he  sought  to  occupy  himself,  and, 
nothing  else  offering,  he  cleared  his  rough  counter  of 
glasses,  plunged  them  into  a  bucket  of  filthy  water,  and 
set  them  out  to  drain.  Then  he  turned  his  attention  to 
his  two  oil  lamps.  He  snuffed  them  with  his  dirty  fingers 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  improve  their  miserable  light.  Then, 
seating  himself  upon  his  counter,  he  lit  a  cheap  green 
cigar  and  prepared  to  wait. 

"  Damn  'em  all  anyway,"  he  muttered  comprehensively, 
and  abandoned  himself  to  watching  the  hands  of  a  cheap 
alarm  clock  creeping  on  toward  the  hour  of  nine. 


1 88  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Apparently  the  soothing  influence  of  his  cigar  changed 
the  trend  of  his  thoughts,  for  presently  he  began  to  smile 
in  his  own  unpleasant  way.  He  was  reviewing  the  scene 
which  his  venom  had  inspired,  and  the  possibilities  of  it — 
at  the  moment  delayed,  but  not  abandoned — gave  him  a 
peculiar  sense  of  gratification. 

He  was  thinking,  too,  of  Joan  Rest  and  some  others. 
He  was  thinking  of  the  day  of  her  arrival  in  the  camp, 
and  the  scene  that  had  followed  Buck's  discovery  of  her. 
He  could  never  forgive  that  scene,  or  those  who  took 
part  in  it.  Buck,  more  surely  than  anybody  else,  he 
could  never  forgive.  He  had  always  hated  Buck  and  his 
friend  the  Padre.  They  had  been  in  a  position  to  hand 
out  benefits  to  the  starving  camp,  and  patronage  was  an 
intolerable  insult  to  a  man  of  his  peculiar  venom.  The 
thought  that  he  owed  those  men  anything  was  anathema 
to  him,  for  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  they  despised  him. 

Since  the  day  of  Joan's  coming  he  had  pondered  upon 
how  he  could  pay  Buck  something  of  that  which  he  owed 
nim  for  the  insult  that  still  rankled.  He  had  been  called 
an  "  outlaw  parson,"  and  the  truth  of  the  appellation 
made  the  insult  only  the  more  maddening.  Nothing  else 
could  have  hurt  the  man  so  much  as  to  remind  him  of 
the  downfall  which  had  reduced  him  to  an  "  outlaw 
parson." 

He  had  told  Buck  then  that  he  would  not  forget. 
He  might  have  added  that  he  could  not  forget.  So,  ever 
since,  he  had  cast  about  for  any  and  every  means  of  hurt- 
ing the  man  who  had  injured  him,  and  his  curiously  mean 
mind  set  him  groping  in  the  remotest  and  more  subtle 
directions.  Nor  had  it  taken  him  long  to  locate  the  most 
vulnerable  point  in  Buck's  armor.  He  had  realized  some- 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  189 

thing  of  the  possibilities  at  the  first  coming  of  Joan.  He 
had  seen  then  the  effect  of  the  beautiful  inanimate  body 
upon  the  man's  susceptibilities.  It  had  been  instantane- 
ous. Then  had  come  that  scene  at  the  farm,  and  Buck's 
further  insult  over  the  gold  which  he  had  hated  to  see 
pass  into  the  girl's  possession.  It  was  then  that  the  first 
glimmer  of  an  opening  for  revenge  had  shown  itself  to  him. 

The  rest  was  the  simple  matter  of  camp  gossip.  Here 
he  learned,  through  the  ridicule  bestowed  upon  Montana 
Ike  and  Pete,  who  were  always  trying  to  outdo  each 
other  in  their  rivalry  for  the  favors  of  Joan,  and  who 
never  missed  an  opportunity  of  visiting  the  farm  when 
they  knew  they  would  find  her  there,  of  Buck's  constant 
attendance  upon  Joan,  He  needed  very  little  of  his  evil 
imagination  to  tell  him  the  rest.  With  Buck  in  love  with 
the  woman  it  was  a  simple  enough  process  to  his  schem- 
ing mind  to  drive  home  his  revenge  upon  the  man — 
through  her. 

The  necessary  inspiration  had  come  that  night,  when 
the  four  women  vultures,  plying  their  trade  of  preying 
upon  the  men  in  his  bar,  had  reached  a  sufficient  degree 
of  drunkenness.  Then  it  had  occurred  to  his  devilish 
mind  to  bribe  them  into  going  across  to  the  farm  and 
paying  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  a  "  party  "  call  upon 
its  mistress,  and,  in  their  own  phraseology,  to  "  raise  hell 
with  her." 

It  was  a  master  stroke.  Then  had  come  Curly's  inter- 
ference. The  fool  had  spoilt  it  all.  Nobody  but  Curly 
had  attempted  to  interfere.  The  men  had  all  been  too 
drunk  to  bother,  and  the  women  had  jumped  at  the 
chance  of  morally  rending  a  virtuous  member  of  their  own 
sex. 


190  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

He  laughed  silently  as  he  thought  of  it  all.  But  his 
laugh  only  expressed  his  gratification  at  the  subtlety  of 
his  ideas.  His  failure  still  annoyed  him.  Curly  had 
stood  champion  for  this  Golden  Woman,  as  they  called 
her.  Well,  it  wasn't  his,  Beasley's,  fault  if  he  hadn't  paid 
for  his  interference  by  this  time.  The  men  were  quite 
drunk  enough  to  hang  him,  or  shoot  him  for  "  doing  up  " 
young  Kid,  who  had  been  a  mere  tool  in  the  matter.  He 
cordially  hoped  they  had.  Anyway,  the  sport  at  Joan's 
expense  was  too  good  to  miss,  and  the  night  was  still 
young. 

The  prospect  almost  entirely  restored  his  good-humor, 
and  he  was  still  smiling  when  the  door  was  suddenly 
pushed  open  and  the  Padre's  burly  figure  appeared  on  the 
threshold. 

The  saloon-keeper's  smile  died  at  sight  of  the  familiar 
white  hair.  Of  all  the  people  on  Yellow  Creek  this  was 
the  man  he  least  wanted  to  see  at  the  moment.  But  he 
was  shrewd  enough  to  avoid  any  sign  of  open  antagonism. 
He  knew  well  enough  that  Moreton  Kenyon  was  neither 
a  fool  nor  a  coward.  He  knew  that  to  openly  measure 
swords  with  him  was  to  challenge  a  man  of  far  superior 
intellect  and  strength,  and  the  issue  was  pretty  sure  to  go 
against  him.  Besides,  this  man  they  affectionately  called 
the  Padre  had  the  entire  good-will  of  the  place. 

But  though  he  always  avoided  open  antagonism  the 
storekeeper  never  let  go  his  grip  on  his  dislike.  He  clung 
to  it  hoping  to  discover  some  means  of  breaking  the  man's 
position  in  the  camp  and  bringing  about  an  utter  revul- 
sion of  the  public  feeling  for  him.  There  was  much  about 
the  Padre  that  gave  him  food  for  thought.  One  detail  in 
particular  was  always  in  his  mind,  a  detail  such  as  a  mind 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  191 

like  his  was  bound  to  question  closely.  He  could  never 
understand  the  man's  object  in  the  isolation  of  the  life  he 
had  lived  for  so  many  years  here  in  the  back  country  of 
the  West. 

However,  he  was  only  concerned  at  the  moment  with 
the  object  of  this  unusual  visit,  and  his  shrewd  speculation 
turned  upon  the  pursuit  of  Curly. 

*'  Evenin',  Padre,"  he  said,  with  a  cordiality  the  most 
exacting  could  have  found  no  fault  with. 

"  Good-evening,"  replied  the  newcomer,  smiling  pleas- 
antly as  he  glanced  round  the  sordid  hovel.  Then  he 
added  :  "  Times  are  changed,  sure.  But — where  are  your 
customers  ?  " 

Beasley's  quick  eyes  gazed  sharply  at  the  perfect  mask 
of  disarming  geniality.  He  was  looking  for  some  sign  to 
give  him  a  lead,  but  there  was  only  easy  good-nature  in 
the  deep  gray  eyes  beneath  their  shaggy  brows. 

"  Guess  they're  out  chasin'  that  fool-head  Curly 
Saunders,"  he  said  unguardedly.  However,  he  saw  his 
mistake  in  an  instant  and  tried  to  rectify  it.  "  Y'  see 
they're  always  skylarkin'  when  they  git  liquor  under  their 
belts." 

"  Skylarking  ?  "  The  Padre  propped  himself  against 
the  bar,  and  his  eyes  suddenly  rested  on  an  ugly  stain  on 
the  sand  floor. 

Beasley  followed  his  glance,  and  beheld  the  pool  of  blood 
which  had  flowed  from  the  Kid's  wound.  He  cursed  him- 
self for  not  having  obliterated  it.  Then,  in  a  moment,  he 
decided  to  carry  the  matter  with  a  high  hand. 

11  Psha'  !  What's  the  use'n  beatin'  around  ! "  he  said 
half-denantly.  "  They're  chasin'  Curly  to  lynch  him  for 
shootin'  up  the  Kid." 


192  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

The  Padre  gave  a  well-assumed  start  and  emitted  a  low 
whistle.  Then  he  turned  directly  toward  the  counter. 

"  You  best  have  a  drink  on  me — for  the  good  of  the 
house,"  he  said.  "  I'll  take  rye." 

Beasley  swung  himself  across  the  counter  with  a  laugh. 

"Say,  that  beats  the  devil!"  he  cried.  "Til  sure  drink 
with  you.  No  one  sooner." 

The  Padre  nodded. 

"Splendid,"  he  smiled.  Then  as  the  other  passed 
glasses  and  the  bottle,  he  went  .on  :  "  Tell  us  about  it — 
the  racket,  I  mean." 

Beasley  helped  himself  to  a  drink  and  laughed  harshly. 

"  Wai,  I  didn't  get  it  right,"  he  said,  raising  his  glass. 
"  Here's  '  how ' ! "  He  gulped  down  his  drink  and  set  the 
empty  glass  on  the  counter.  "  Y'  see,  I  was  handin'  out 
drinks  when  the  racket  started.  They  were  all  muckin' 
around  with  them  four  sluts  that  come  in  town  the  other 
day.  Guess  they  was  all  most  sloshed  to  the  gills.  First 
thing  I  know  they  were  quarreling,  then  some  un  got 
busy  with  a  gun.  Then  they  started  chasin'  Curly,  an'  I 
see  the  Kid  lying  around  shot  up.  It  was  jest  a  flesh 
wound,  an*  I  had  him  boosted  out  to  his  own  shack.  His 
partner,  Pete — they  struck  a  partnership,  those  two — why, 
I  guess  he's  seein'  to  him.  'Tain't  on'y  a  scratch." 

The  Padre  set  his  glass  down.  He  had  not  drunk  his 
liquor  at  a  gulp  like  the  other. 

"  Pity,"  he  said,  his  eyes  turned  again  to  the  blood- 
stained floor.  "  I  s'pose  it  was  the  women — I  mean  the 
cause  ?  " 

The  man's  manner  was  so  disarming  that  Beasley  felt 
quite  safe  in  "opening  out." 

"Pity?"    he   laughed   brutally.      "  Wher's   the    pity? 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  193 

Course  it  was  the  women.  It's  always  the  women.  Set 
men  around  a  bunch  of  women  and  trier's  always  trouble. 
It's  always  been,  and  it  always  will  be.  Ther's  no  pity 
about  it  I  can  see.  We're  all  made  that  way,  and  those  who 
set  us  on  this  rotten  earth  meant  it  so,  or  it  wouldn't  be." 

The  Padre's  gray  eyes  surveyed  the  narrow  face  before 
him.  This  man,  with  his  virulent  meanness,  his  iron-gray 
hair,  his  chequered  past,  always  interested  him. 

"  And  do  you  think  this  sort  of  trouble  would  occur  if — 
if  the  men  hadn't  been  drunk?  "  he  asked  pointedly. 

Beasley's  antagonism  surged,  but  his  outward  seeming 
was  perfectly  amiable. 

"  Meaning  me  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  grin. 

The  Padre  shrugged. 

"  I  was  thinking  that  these  things  have  been  occurring 
ever  since  the  camp  was  flooded  with " 

"  Rye ! "  Beasley's  eyes  sparkled.  He  reached  the 
Padre's  now  empty  glass  and  gave  him  a  fresh  one,  push- 
ing the  bottle  toward  him.  "  You'll  hev  a  drink  on  me, 
an'  if  you've  got  time,  I'll  tell  you  about  this  thing." 

The  other  submitted,  and  the  drink  was  poured  out. 
The  Padre  ignored  his. 

"  Get  right  ahead,"  he  said  in  his  easy  way. 

Beasley  leered  over  the  rim  of  his  glass  as  he  drank  his 
whisky. 

"  You  think  it's  rye,"  he  said,  setting  his  glass  down 
with  unnecessary  force.  "  An'  I  say  it's  the  women— or 
the  woman.  Trouble  come  to  this  camp  with  that  tow- 
headed  gal  over  at  the  farm.  Anybody  with  two  eyes 
could  see  that.  Anybody  that  wasn't  as  blind  as  a  dotin' 
mother.  The  boys  are  all  mad  'bout  her.  They're 
plumb-crazed.  They  got  her  tow  head  and  sky-blue  eyes 


194  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

on  their  addled  brains,  an'  all  the  youngsters,  anyway,  are 
fumin'  jealous  of  each  other,  and  ready  to  shoot,  or  do 
anything  else  that  comes  handy,  to  out  the  other  feller 
That's  the  root  of  the  trouble — an'  you  brought  that  about 
selling  her  your  farm." 

Beasley  had  let  himself  go  intending  to  aggravate,  but 
the  other's  manner  still  remained  undisturbed. 

11  But  this  only  happens  when  they're  drunk,"  he  said 
mildly. 

Beasley's  angry  impatience  broke  out. 

"  Tcha'  !  Drunk  or  sober  it  don't  make  any  difference. 
I  tell  you  the  whole  camp's  on.  edge  over  that  gal.  It 
only  needs  a  word  to  set  things  hummin'.  It's  that  gal ! 
She's  a  Jonah,  a  Hoodoo  to  us  all — to  this  place.  She's 
got  rotten  luck  all  over  her — and  you  brought  her  here. 
You  needn't  try  an'  sling  mud  at  me  fer  handing  them  the 
rot-gut  the  boys  ask  for.  Get  that  woman  out  of  the  place 
and  things'll  level  up  right  away." 

The  man's  rudeness  still  seemed  to  have  no  effect. 

"  But  all  this  doesn't  seem  to  fit  in  with — with  this  af- 
fair to-night,"  the  Padre  argued.  "  You  said  it  began, 
you  thought,  over  the  four  women  you  allow  in  here." 

Beasley  was  being  steadily  drawn  without  knowing  it. 
His  swift-rising  spleen  led  him  farther  into  the  trap. 

"  So  it  did,"  he  snapped.  Then  he  laughed  mirthlessly. 
"  Y'  see  some  one  suggested  those  gals  pay  a  '  party ' 
call  on  your  Golden  Woman,"  he  said  with  elaborate 
sarcasm.  "  And  it  was  because  Mr.  Curly  Saunders  sort  o* 
fancies  he's  got  some  sort  of  right  to  that  lady  he  butted 
in  and  shot  up  the  Kid." 

"  Who  suggested  it?"  asked  the  other  quickly,  his  mild 
gray  eyes  hardening. 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  195 

"Why,  the  Kid." 

The  Padre  looked  the  saloon-keeper  squarely  in  the  eye. 

"  And  who  put  it  into  that  foolish  boy's  head  ? "  he 
asked  slowly. 

Beasley's  face  purpled  with  rage. 

"  You  needn't  to  put  things  that  way  with  me,"  he 
cried.  "  If  you  got  things  to  say,  say  'em  right  out.  You 
reckon  I  was  the  man  who  suggested " 

"I  do." 

The  Padre's  eyes  were  wide  open.  The  hard  gray 
gleam  literally  bored  into  the  other's  heated  face.  He 
stood  up,  his  whole  body  rigid  with  purpose. 

"  I  say  right  here  that  you  were  responsible  for  it  all. 
The  Kid  wasn't  capable  of  inventing  such  a  dirty  trick  on 
a  decent  girl.  He  was  sufficiently  drunk  to  be  influenced 
by  you,  and,  but  for  Curly's  timely  interference,  you  would 
doubtless  have  had  your  rotten  way.  I  tell  you  the 
trouble,  whatever  trouble  happens  in  this  camp,  is  trouble 
which  you  are  directly  or  indirectly  responsible  for.  These 
men,  in  their  sober  senses,  are  harmless.  Give  them  the 
poison  you  charge  extortionately  for  and  they  are  ready 
to  do  anything.  I  warn  you,  Beasley,  to  be  careful  what 
you  do — be  damned  careful.  There  are  ways  of  beating 
you,  and,  by  thunder !  I'll  beat  you  at  your  own  game ! 
Good-night ! " 

The  Padre  turned  and  walked  out,  leaving  the  discom- 
fited storekeeper  speechless  with  rage,  his  narrow  eyes 
glaring  after  him. 

Moreton  Kenyon  was  never  a  man  to  allow  an  impulse 
of  anger  to  get  the  better  of  him.  All  that  he  had  said  to 
Beasley  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  say  before  starting 
for  the  camp.  There  was  only  one  way  of  dealing  with 


196  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

the  man's  genius  for  mischief.  And  that  way  did  not  lie 
in  the  direction  of  persuasion  or  moral  talk.  Force  was 
the  only  thing  such  a  nature  as  his  would  yield  toc  The 
Padre  knew  well  enough  that  such  force  lay  to  his  com- 
mand should  he  choose  to  exert  his  influence  in  the  camp. 
He  was  man  of  the  world  enough  to  understand  that  the 
moral  condition  of  the  life  in  this  camp  must  level  itself. 
It  could  not  be  regulated — yet.  But  the  protection  of  a 
young  and  beautiful  girl  was  not  only  his  duty,  but  the 
duty  of  every  sane  citizen  in  the  district,  and  he  was  de- 
termined it  should  be  carried  out.  There  was  no  ordinary 
law  to  hold  this  renegade  in  check,  so,  if  necessary,  he 
must  be  treated  to  the  harshness  of  a  law  framed  by  the 
unpracticed  hands  of  men  who  only  understood  the  wild 
in  which  they  lived. 

On  his  way  home  the  Padre  encountered  Buck,  who 
had  been  back  to  the  fur  fort,  and,  learning  from  Curly 
the  facts  of  what  had  occurred,  was  now  on  his  way  to 
join  his  friend. 

They  paused  to  talk  for  some  minutes,  and  their  talk 
was  upon  those  things  which  were  still  running  through 
their  minds  in  a  hot  tide  of  resentment.  After  a  while 
they  parted,  Buck  to  continue  his  way  to  the  camp,  and 
the  Padre  to  his  home. 

"  I  think  it's  all  right  for  to-night,"  the  Padre  said  as  he 
prepared  to  move  off.  "  I  don't  think  he'll  make  another 
attempt.  Anyway,  the  boys  will  be  sober.  But  you 
might  have  an  eye  on  him." 

Buck  nodded,  and  in  the  darkness  the  fierce  anger  in 
his  dark  eyes  was  lost  to  his  companion. 

"I'll  be  to  home  when  the  camp's  abed,"  he  said. 
"  I'll  sure  see  the  gal  safe." 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  197 

So  they  parted,  leaving  the  Padre  perfectly  confident  in 
Buck's  ability  to  make  good  his  assurance. 

It  was  a  wild  scene  inside  the  drinking-booth  over  which 
the  ex-Churchman  presided.  The  men  had  returned  from 
their  fruitless  pursuit  of  their  intended  victim.  And  as 
they  came  in,  no  longer  furiously  determined  upon  a  man's 
life,  but  laughing  and  joking  over  the  events  of  their  blind 
journey  in  the  darkness,  Beasley  saw  that  they  were  rap- 
idly sobering. 

Still  raging  inwardly  at  the  result  of  the  Padre's  visit 
he  set  to  work  at  once,  and,  before  any  one  else  could  call 
for  a  drink,  he  seized  the  opportunity  himself.  He  plied 
them  with  a  big  drink  at  his  own  expense,  and  so  promptly 
enlisted  their  favor — incidentally  setting  their  appetites  for 
a  further  orgie  with  a  sharpness  that  it  would  take  most 
of  the  night  to  appease. 

The  ball  set  rolling  by  his  cunning  hand  quickly  ran 
riot,  and  soon  the  place  again  became  the  pandemonium 
which  was  its  nightly  habit.  Good-humor  was  the  prev- 
alent note,  however.  The  men  realized  now,  in  their  half- 
sober  senses,  that  the  Kid  was  only  wounded,  and  this  in- 
clined them  to  leniency  toward  Curly.  So  it  was  quickly 
evident  that  their  recently-intended  victim  need  no  longer 
have  any  fear  for  his  life.  He  was  forgiven  as  readily 
and  as  easily  as  he  had  been  condemned. 

So  the  night  proceeded.  The  roulette  board  was  set 
going  again  in  one  corner  of  the  hut  and  a  crowd  hung 
about  it,  while  the  two  operators  of  it,  "  Diamond  "  Jack 
and  his  partner,  strangers  to  the  place,  raked  in  their 
harvest.  The  air  was  thick  with  the  reek  of  cheap  cigars, 
sold  at  tremendous  prices,  and  the  foul  atmosphere  of 


1 98  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

stale  drink.  The  usual  process  of  a  further  saturation  had 
set  in.  Nor  amidst  the  din  of  voices  was  there  a  discord- 
ant note.  Even  the  cursings  of  the  losers  at  the  roulette 
board  were  drowned  in  the  raucous  din  of  laughter  and 
loud-voiced  talk  around  the  bar. 

As  time  went  on  Beasley  saw  that  his  moment  was  rap- 
idly approaching.  The  shining,  half -glazed  eyes,  the 
sudden  outbursts  of  wild  whoopings,  told  him  the  tale  he 
liked  to  hear.  And  he  promptly  changed  his  own  atti- 
tude of  bonhomie,  and  began  to  remind  those  who  cared 
to  listen  of  the  fun  they  had  all  missed  through  Curly's 
interference.  This  was  done  at  the  same  time  as  he  took 
to  pouring  out  the  drinks  himself  in  smaller  quantities, 
and  became  careless  in  the  matter  of  making  accurate 
change  for  the  bigger  bills  of  his  customers. 

Beasley 's  hints  were  not  long  in  bearing  the  fruit  he  de- 
sired. Some  one  recollected  the  women  who  had  been 
participants  in  their  earlier  frolic,  and  instantly  there  was 
a  clamor  for  their  presence. 

Beasley  grinned.     He  was  feeling  almost  joyous. 

The  women  readily  answered  the  summons.  They 
came  garbed  in  long,  flowing,  tawdry  wrappers,  the  hall- 
mark of  the  lives  they  lived.  Nor  was  it  more  than  sec- 
onds before  they  were  caught  in  the  whirl  of  the  orgie  in 
progress. 

The  sight  was  beyond  all  description  in  its  revolting 
and  hideous  pathos.  These  blind,  besotted  men  hovered 
about  these  wrecks  of  womanhood  much  in  the  manner 
of  hungry  animals.  They  plied  them  with  drink,  and 
sought  to  win  their  favors  by  ribald  jesting  and  talk  as 
obscene  as  their  condition  of  drunkenness  would  permit 
them,  while  the  women  accepted  their  attentions  in  the 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  199 

spirit  in  which  they  were  offered,  calculating,  watching, 
with  an  eye  trained  to  the  highest  pitch  of  mercenary  mo- 
tive, for  the  direction  whence  the  greatest  benefit  was  to 
come. 

Beasley  was  watching  too.  He  knew  that  the  Padre's 
threat  had  been  no  idle  one,  but  he  meant  to  forestall  its 
operation.  The  Padre  was  away  to  his  home  by  now. 
Nothing  that  he  could  do  could  operate  until  the  morn- 
ing, when  these  men  were  sober.  He  had  got  this  night, 
at  least,  in  which  to  satisfy  his  evil  whim. 

His  opportunity  came  sooner  than  he  expected.  One 
of  the  girls,  quite  a  young  creature,  whose  originally- 
pretty  face  was  now  distorted  and  bloated  by  the  life  she 
lived,  suddenly  appealed  to  him.  She  jumped  up  from 
the  bench  on  which  she  had  been  sitting  listening  to  the 
drunken  attentions  of  a  stranger  who  bored  her,  and 
challenged  the  saloon-keeper  with  a  laugh  and  an  ingra- 
tiating wink. 

"  Say,  you  gray-headed  old  beer-slinger,"  she  cried, 
"  how  about  that  *  party '  call  you'd  fixed  up  for  us  ?  Ain't 
ther'  nuthin'  doin'  since  that  mutt  with  the  thin  yeller 
thatch  got  busy  shootin'  ?  Say,  he  got  you  all  scared  to 
a  pea  shuck.'' 

She  laughed  immoderately,  and,  swaying  drunkenly, 
was  caught  by  the  attentive  stranger. 

"  Quit  it,  Mamie,"  protested  one  of  the  other  girls.  "  If 
you  want  another  racket  I  don't.  You're  always  raisin' 
hell." 

"  Quit  yourself,"  shrieked  Mamie  in  sudden  anger.  "  I 
ain't  scared  of  a  racket."  She  turned  to  Beasley,  who  was 
pouring  out  a  round  of  drinks  for  Abe  Allinson,  now  so 
drunk  that  he  had  to  support  himself  against  the  counter. 


200  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  Say,  you  don't  need  to  be  scared,  that  feller's  out  o' 
the  way  now,"  she  jeered.  "  Wot  say  ?  Guess  it  would 
be  a  '  scream.'  " 

Beasley  handed  the  change  of  a  twenty-dollar  bill  to 
Abe  and  turned  to  the  girl. 

"  Sure  it  would,"  he  agreed  promptly,  his  face  beaming. 
Then  he  added  cunningly :  "  But  it's  you  folks  are  plumb 
scared." 

"  Who  the  h scared  of  a  gal  like  that  ?  "  Mamie 

yelled  at  him,  her  eyes  blazing.  "  I  ain't.  Are  you, 
Lulu  ?  You,  Kit  ?  "  She  turned  to  the  other  women,  but 
ignored  the  protesting  Sadie. 

Lulu  sprang  from  the  arms  of  a  man  on  whose  shoulder 
she  had  been  reclining. 

"  Scared  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Come  right  on.  I'm  game. 
Beasley' s  keen  to  give  her  a  twistin' — well,  guess  it's  al- 
ways up  to  us  to  oblige."  And  she  laughed  immoder- 
ately. 

Kit  joined  in.  She  cared  nothing  so  long  as  she  was 
with  the  majority.  And  it  was  Beasley  himself  who 
finally  challenged  the  recalcitrant  Sadie. 

"  Guess  you  ain't  on,  though,"  he  said,  and  there  was 
something  like  a  threat  in  his  tone. 

Sadie  shrugged. 

"  It  don't  matter.     If  the  others " 

"  Bully  for  you,  Sadie ! "  cried  Mamie  impulsively. 
"  Come  right  on  !  Who's  comin'  to  get  the  *  scream '  ?  " 
she  demanded  of  the  men  about  her,  while  Beasley  nodded 
his  approval  from  his  stand  behind  the  bar. 

But  somehow  her  general  invitation  was  not  received 
with  the  same  enthusiasm  the  occasion  had  met  with 
earlier  in  the  evening.  The  memory  of  the  Kid  still 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  201 

hovered  over  some  of  the  muddled  brains,  and  only  a 
few  of  those  who  were  in  the  furthest  stages  of  drunken- 
ness responded. 

Nothing  daunted,  however,  the  girl  Mamie,  furiously 
anxious  to  stand  well  with  the  saloon-keeper,  laughed 
over  at  him. 

"  We'll  give  her  a  joyous  time,"  she  shrieked.  "  Say, 
what's  her  name  ?  Joan  Rest,  the  Golden  Woman ! 
She'll  need  the  rest  when  we're  through.  Come  on, 
gals.  We'll  dance  a  cancan  on  her  parlor  table.  Come 
on." 

She  made  a  move  and  the  others  prepared  to  follow. 
Several  of  the  men,  laughing  recklessly,  were  ready 
enough  to  go  whither  they  led.  Already  Mamie  was 
within  a  pace  of  the  closed  door  when  a  man  suddenly 
pushed  Abe  Allinson  roughly  aside,  leant  his  right  elbow 
on  the  counter,  and  stood  with  his  face  half-turned 
toward  the  crowd.  It  was  Buck.  His  movements  had 
been  so  swift,  so  well  calculated,  that  Beasley  found  him- 
self looking  into  the  muzzle  of  the  man's  heavy  revolver 
before  he  could  attempt  to  defend  himself. 

"  Hold  on  ! " 

Buck's  voice  rang  out  above  the  din  of  the  barroom. 
Instantly  he  had  the  attention  of  the  whole  company. 
The  girls  stood,  staring  back  at  him  stupidly,  and  the 
men  saw  the  gun  leveled  at  the  saloon-keeper's  head. 
They  saw  more.  They  saw  that  Buck  held  another  gun 
in  his  left  hand,  which  was  threatening  the  entire  room. 
Most  of  them  knew  him.  Some  of  them  didn't.  But 
one  and  all  understood  the  threat  and  waited  motionless. 
Nor  did  they  have  to  wait  long. 

"  Gals,"  said  Buck  sternly,  "  this  racket's  played  out. 


202  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Ther's  been  shootin'  tonight  over  the  same  thing. 
Wai,  therms  going  to  be  more  shootin'  if  it  don't  quit 
right  here.  If  you  leave  this  shanty  to  go  across  to  the 
farm  to  molest  the  folks  there,  Beasley,  here,  is  a  dead 
man  before  you  get  a  yard  from  the  door." 

Then  his  glance  shifted  so  that  the  saloon-keeper  came 
into  his  focus,  while  yet  he  held  a  perfect  survey  of  the 
rest  of  the  men. 

"Do  you  get  me,  Beasley?"  he  went  on  coldly. 
"  You're  a  dead  man  if  those  gals  go.  An'  if  you  send 
them  to  the  farm  after  this — ever — I'll  shoot  you  on 
sight.  Wai?" 

Beasley  knew  when  he  was  beaten.  He  had  reckoned 
only  on  the  Padre.  He  had  forgotten  Buck.  However, 
he  wouldn't  forget  him  in  the  future. 

"  You  can  put  up  your  gun,  Buck,"  he  said,  with  an 
assumption  of  geniality  that  deceived  no  one,  and  Buck 
least  of  all.  "  Quit  your  racket,  gals,"  he  went  on. 
Then  he  added  with  the  sarcasm  he  generally  fell  back  on 
in  such  emergencies :  "  Guess  this  gentleman  feels  the 
same  as  Curly— only  he  ain't  as — hasty." 

The  girls  went  slowly  back  to  their  seats,  and  Buck, 
lowering  his  guns,  quietly  restored  them  both  to  their 
holsters. 

Beasley  watched  him,  and  as  he  saw  them  disappear 
his  whole  manner  changed. 

"Now,  Mister  Buck,"  he  said,  with  a  snarl,  "I  don't 
guess  I  need  either  your  dollars  or  your  company  on  my 
premises.  You'll  oblige  me — that  door  ain't  locked." 
And  he  pointed  at  it  deliberately  for  the  man  to  take  his 
departure. 

But  Buck  only  laughed. 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  203 

"  Don't  worry,  Beasley,"  he  said.  "  I'm  here— till  you 
close  up  for  the  night." 

And  the  enraged  saloon-keeper  had  a  vision  of  a 
smile  at  his  expense  which  promptly  lit  the  faces  of  the 
entire  company. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WHEN  LIFE  HOLDS  NO  SHADOWS 

THE  mellow  evening  light  glows  with  a  living  warmth 
of  color  upon  hill,  and  valley,  and  plain.  The  myriad 
tints  shine  in  perfect  harmony,  for  Nature  is  incapable  of 
discord  whether  in  her  reign  of  beauty  or  her  moments  of 
terror.  Discord  belongs  to  the  imperfect  human  eye,  the 
human  brain,  the  human  heart.  Thus  must  the  most 
perfect  human  creation  be  ever  imperfect. 

But  Nature's  perfections  are  never  lost  upon  the  human 
mind.  They  are  not  intended  to  be  lost.  They  serve 
well  their  purpose  of  elevating,  of  uplifting  all  thought, 
and  affording  inspiration  for  all  that  which  is  good 
and  beautiful  in  hearts  thrilling  with  emotions  which 
need  strong  support  to  save  them  from  their  own 
weaknesses. 

Something  of  this  influence  was  at  work  in  the  hearts 
of  a  man  and  a  girl  riding  over  the  hard  sand  trail  in 
the  pleasant  evening  light.  The  man's  youthful  heart 
was  thrilling  with  a  hope  he  dared  not  attempt  to  define, 
and  could  not  if  he  would.  His  every  feeling  was 
inspired  by  a  joy  he  had  no  proper  understanding  of. 
The  glance  of  his  dark  eyes  bespoke  his  mood,  and  his 
buoyancy  seemed  to  communicate  itself  to  the  great 
horse  under  him.  All  he  knew  was  that  the  glory  of  the 
day  was  all  about  him,  and,  beside  him.  Joan  was  riding 
the  Padre's  sturdy  horse 


WHEN  LIFE  HOLDS  NO  SHADOWS          205 

The  girl  at  his  side  was  no  less  uplifted.  At  the 
moment  shadows  troubled  her  not  at  all.  They  were 
gone,  merged  into  soft,  hazy  gauzes  through  which 
peeped  the  scenes  of  life  as  she  desired  life  to  be,  and 
every  picture  was  rose-tinted  with  the  wonderful  light  of 
an  evening  sun. 

Her  fair  young  face  was  radiant ;  a  wonderful  happi- 
ness shone  in  the  violet  depths  of  her  eyes.  Her  sweet 
lips  were  parted,  displaying  her  even,  white  teeth,  and 
her  whole  expression  was  much  that  of  a  child  who,  for 
the  first  time,  opens  its  eyes  to  the  real  joy  of  living. 
Every  now  and  again  she  drew  a  deep,  long  sigh  of 
content  and  enjoyment. 

For  a  while  they  rode  in  silence,  their  bodies  swaying 
easily  to  the  rhythmic  gait  of  the  horses.  Their  direc- 
tion lay  toward  the  sun,  that  direction  which  ever  makes 
for  hope.  Ahead  of  them,  and  behind  them,  lay  the 
forest  of  tall,  garbless  trunks,  their  foliage-crowned, 
disheveled  heads  nodding  in  the  light  breezes  from  the 
hilltops,  which  left  the  lower  atmosphere  undisturbed. 
The  scented  air,  pungent  with  pleasant  odors,  swept  them 
by  as  their  horses  loped  easily  along.  It  was  a  moment 
of  perfect  peace,  a  moment  when  life  could  hold  no 
shadows. 

But  such  feelings  are  only  for  the  silent  moments  of 
perfect  companionship.  The  spoken  word,  which  indexes 
thought,  robs  them  of  half  their  charm  and  beauty.  The 
girl  felt  something  of  this  as  the  calm  voice  of  her  com- 
panion broke  the  wonderful  spell. 

"  That  feller's  shaping  well,"  he  said,  his  thoughts  for 
the  moment  evidently  upon  the  practical  side  of  her 
comfort. 


206  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

The  girl  nodded.  That  look  of  rapturous  joy  had  left 
her,  and  she  too  became  practical. 

"  I  think  so — when  Mrs.  Ransford  leaves  him  alone," 
she  said,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  She  declares  it  is  always 
necessary  to  harass  a  *  hired '  man  from  daylight  to  dark. 
If  I  were  he  I'd  get  out  into  the  pastures,  or  hay  sloughs, 
or  forest,  or  somewhere,  and  stay  there  till  she'd 
gone  to  bed.  Really,  Buck,  she's  a  terrible  woman." 

In  the  growing  weeks  of  companionship  Joan  had 
learned  to  use  this  man's  name  as  familiarly  as  though 
she  had  known  him  all  her  life.  It  would  have  seemed 
absurd  to  call  him  anything  but  Buck  now.  Besides,  she 
liked  doing  so.  The  name  fitted  him.  "  Buck ; "  it 
suggested  to  her — spirit,  independence,  courage,  every- 
thing that  was  manly ;  and  she  had  long  ago  decided 
that  he  was  all  these  things — and  more. 

Buck  laughed  in  his  quiet  fashion.  He  rarely  laughed 
loudly.  Joan  thought  it  sounded  more  like  a  deep- 
throated  gurgle. 

"  She  sure  is,"  he  declared  heartily. 

"  Of  course,"  Joan  smiled.  "  You  have  crossed  swords 
with  her." 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"Not  me,"  he  said.  "She  did  the  battlin'.  GuesS  I 
sat  tight.  You  see,  words  ain't  as  easy  to  a  man,  as  to- 
some  women." 

Joan  enjoyed  the  tact  of  his  remark.  She  leant  for- 
ward and  smoothed  the  silky  neck  of  the  Padre's  horse, 
and  Buck's  admiring  eyes  took  in  the  perfect  lines  of  her 
well-cut  habit.  He  had  never  seen  anything  like  it  before, 
and  failed  to  understand  the  excellence  of  its  tailoring,  but 
he  knew  that  everything  about  this  girl  was  wonderfully 


WHEN  LIFE  HOLDS  NO  SHADOWS          207 

beautiful,  and  he  would  have  liked  to  have  been  able  to 
tell  her  so. 

As  he  watched  her  he  could  not  help  thinking  of  the 
moment  when  he  had  held  her  in  his  arms.  It  was  a 
thought  almost  always  with  him,  a  thought  which  never 
failed  to  stir  his  pulses  and  set  them  racing. 

"  But  you  see  I  can't  do  without  her,"  the  girl  went  on 
as  she  sat  up  in  her  saddle  again.  "  She's  a  good  worker, 
herself.  She's  taught  me  a  good  deal  already.  Oh,  yes," 
she  smiled  at  his  look  of  incredulity,  "  I've  begun  my 
lessons.  I  am  learning  all  I  can,  preparing  for  the  bigger 
lessons  of  this — this  " — she  gave  a  comprehensive  glance 
at  the  hills — "  wonderful  world." 

Buck  nodded.  But  he  rode  on  in  silence,  his  face  for 
the  moment  clouded  with  deep  thought.  He  was  think- 
ing of  that  night  in  Beasley's  store.  He  was  thinking  of 
what  might  have  happened  there  if  those  women  had  car- 
ried out  their  purpose.  He  was  wondering  what  the  les- 
sons might  be  that  this  girl  might  yet  find  herself 
confronted  with.  The  matter  troubled  him.  And  Joan's 
surreptitious  glance  into  his  face  warned  her  that  the  cloud 
had  obscured  his  sun. 

The  man  finally  broke  the  silence. 

"  Have  you  got  any  menfolk  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly 

Joan  turned  quickly. 

"No— why?" 

"  An  uncle — a  brother.     Maybe  a — father?" 

There  wras  something  almost  anxious  in  Buck's  manner 
as  he  enumerated  the  possible  relationships. 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head  at  each  one,  and  he  went  on 
in  a  tone  of  disappointment. 

"  It's  kind  of  a  pity,"  he  observed.     Then,  in  answer  to 


208  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

the  girl's  quick  look  of  inquiry,  he  added  evasively : 
"  You  see  it's  lonesome  for  a  gal — out  in  these  hills." 

Joan  knew  that  that  was  not  the  reason  of  his  inquiry, 
and  she  smiled  quietly  at  her  horse's  ears. 

"  Why  did  you  want  to  know  if  I  had — menfolk?"  she 
asked.  "  I  mean  the  real  reason."  She  looked  up  frankly 
smiling,  and  compelled  his  attention. 

Buck  was  not  easy  to  corner,  even  though  he  had  no 
experience  of  women.  Again  Joan  heard  his  strange 
gurgle,  and  her  smile  broadened. 

"  You  could  sure  learn  your  lessons  easier  with  your 
menfolk  around  to  help  you,"  he  said. 

For  a  second  the  girl's  face  dropped.  Then  she  laughed 
good-humoredly. 

"  You're  smart,  Buck,"  she  exclaimed.  "  But — but 
you're  most  exasperating.  Still,  I'll  tell  you.  The  only 
relative  I  have  in  the  world,  that  I  know  of,  is — Aunt 
Mercy." 

"  Ah  !  she's  a  woman." 

"  Yes,  a  woman." 

"  It's  a  pity."  Suddenly  Buck  pointed  ahead  at  a  great 
mass  of  towering  rock  above  the  trees.  "  There's  Devil's 
Hill !  "  he  exclaimed. 

Joan  looked  up,  all  eager  delight  to  behold  this  wonder- 
ful hill  Buck  had  brought  her  out  to  see.  She  expected 
something  unusual,  for  already  she  had  listened  to  several 
accounts  of  this  place  and  the  gold  "  strike  "  she  was  sup- 
posed to  have  brought  about.  Nor  was  she  disappointed 
now,  at  least  at  first.  She  stared  with  wondering  eyes  at 
the  weird,  black  giant  raising  its  ugly  head  in  a  frowning 
threat  above  them,  and  gave  a  gasp  of  surprise. 

Then  in  a  moment  her  surprise  died  out,  and  into  her 


WHEN  LIFE  HOLDS  NO  SHADOWS         209 

eyes  crept  a  strange  look  of  repulsion  and  even  fear.  She 
had  no  words  to  offer.  She  made  no  move.  It  was  al- 
most as  if  she  sat  fascinated  like  some  harmless  bird  held 
by  the  hypnotic  stare  of  a  python.  So  long  did  she  re- 
main silent  that  Buck  at  last  turned  and  looked  into  her 
face.  And  something  like  alarm  caught  and  held  him 
when  he  beheld  her  gray  look  of  horror  as  she  faced  the 
gloomy  crags  mounting  up  before  them. 

He  too  looked  out  ahead.  But  his  imagination  failed 
him,  and  his  eyes  came  back  to  her.  The  change  in  her 
happy,  smiling  eyes  was  incredible.  Her  smile  had  gone 
utterly — the  bright  color  of  her  cheeks.  There  was  no 
awe  in  her  look,  neither  curiosity  nor  admiration.  To 
him  it  almost  seemed  that  her  whole  body  was  thrilled 
with  an  utter  repugnance  and  loathing  at  what  she  beheld. 

"  It's— ugly,"  he  hazarded  at  last. 

"  It's — it's  dreadful."  The  girl's  reply  came  in  a  tone 
there  was  no  mistaking.  It  was  one  of  concentrated 
detestation. 

"  You  don't— like  it  ?  "     Buck  felt  helpless. 

But  Joan's  next  words  left  him  without  any  doubt 

"  I— I  think  I— hate  it,"  she  said  harshly. 

Buck  drew  rein  on  the  instant. 

"  Then  we'll  get  back  to  home." 

But  Joan  had  no  such  intention. 

"  No — no !  "  she  exclaimed  quickly.  "  We'll  go  on.  I 
want  to  see  it.  I — I  must  see  it." 

Her  manner  had  suddenly  become  agitated,  and  Buck 
was  left  wondering  the  more.  She  was  stirred  with  strange 
feelings  which  embodied  a  dozen  different  emotions,  and 
it  was  the  sight  of  that  great  black  crown,  like  the  head 
of  a  Gorgon,  which  had  inspired  them.  Its  fascination 


210  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

was  one  of  cruel  attraction.  Its  familiarity  suggested  as- 
sociation with  some  part  of  her  life.  It  seemed  as  if  she 
belonged  to  it,  or  that  it  belonged  to  her — that  in  some 
curious  way  it  was  actually  a  part  of  her  life.  And  all  the 
time  her  detestation,  her  fear  surged  through  her  heart 
and  left  her  revolting.  But  she  knew  she  must  go  on. 
It's  fascination  claimed  her  and  drew  her,  calling  to  her 
with  a  summons  she  dared  not  disobey — had  no  real  desire 
to  disobey. 

It  was  she  who  took  the  lead  now.  She  pressed  on  at 
a  rapid  gallop.  Her  fair  young  face  was  set  and  cold. 
She  remained  silent,  and  her  manner  forbade  the  man's 
interruption. 

But  Buck  kept  pace  with  her,  and  a  great  sympathy 
held  him  silent  too.  He  had  no  real  understanding  of  her 
mood,  only  he  knew  that,  for  the  moment,  his  presence 
had  no  place  in  her  thought. 

So  they  drew  toward  the  shadow  of  the  hill.  Each  was 
lost  in  disturbed  reflections.  Joan  was  waiting,  expectant 
of  she  knew  not  what,  and  the  man,  filled  with  puzzle- 
ment, knew  that  the  solution  lay  only  with  the  girl  beside 
him. 

It  had  been  his  thought  to  point  out  the  things  which 
his  practiced  mind  suggested  as  of  interest,  but  now,  as 
he  beheld  the  rapt  expression  of  her  face,  it  all  became 
different  Therefore  he  checked  the  eager  Caesar  and  let 
her  lead  the  way. 

Joan  had  no  observation  for  anything  as  she  rode  on 
right  up  to  the  very  shadow  of  the  suspended  lake.  Then, 
almost  mechanically,  as  though  urged  by  some  unseen 
hand,  she  drew  up  sharply.  She  was  no  longer  looking 
at  the  hill,  she  sat  in  her  saddle  limply,  and  stared  vacantly 


WHEN  LIFE  HOLDS  NO  SHADOWS         211 

at  the  rough  workings  of  the  miners  which  had  been 
abandoned  for  the  day. 

Still  Buck  waited  in  silence. 

At  last  he  had  his  reward.  The  girl  made  a  movement 
almost  like  a  shiver.  Then  she  sat  up  erect.  The  color 
came  back  to  her  cheeks  and  she  turned  to  him  with  eyes 
in  which  a  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted. 

"I — I  had  forgotten,"  she  said  half-apologetically. 
"  This  is  what  has  brought  prosperity  to  the  camp.  This 
is  what  has  saved  them  from  starvation.  We — we  should 
owe  it  gratitude." 

"  I  don't  guess  the  rocks  need  gratitude,"  replied  Buck 
quietly. 

"  No  ! " 

Joan  looked  up  at  the  black  roof  above  her  and  shivered. 

"  It's  a  weird  place,  where  one  might  well  expect  weird 
happenings." 

Buck  smiled.  He  was  beginning  to  obtain  some  insight 
into  the  girl's  mood.  So  used  was  he  to  the  gloomy  hill 
that  its  effect  was  quite  lost  on  him.  Now  he  knew  that 
some  superstitious  chord  had  been  struck  in  the  girl's 
feelings,  and  this  strange  hill  had  been  the  medium  of  its 
expression. 

He  suddenly  leant  forward.  Resting  on  the  horn  of  his 
saddle  he  looked  into  the  fair  face  he  so  loved.  He  had 
seen  that  haunted  look  in  her  face  before.  He  remem- 
bered his  first  meeting  with  her  at  the  barn.  Its  termina- 
tion had  troubled  him  then.  It  had  troubled  him  since. 
He  remembered  the  incident  when  the  gold  had  been 
presented  to  her.  Again  he  had  witnessed  that  hunted, 
terrified  look,  that  strange  overpowering  of  some  painful 
thought — or  memory. 


212  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Now  he  felt  that  she  needed  support,  and  strove  with  all 
his  power  to  afford  it  her. 

"  Guess  ther's  nothing  weird  outside  the  mind  of  man," 
he  said.  "  Anyway,  nothing  that  needs  to  scare  folk." 
He  turned  and  surveyed  the  hill  and  the  wonderful  green 
country  surrounding  them.  "  Get  a  look  around,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  comprehensive  gesture.  "  This  rock — 
it's  just  rock,  natural  rock  ;  it's  rock  you'll  find  most  any- 
where. It's  got  dumped  down  right  here  wher'  most 
things  are  green,  an'  dandy,  an'  beautiful  to  the  eye  ;  so 
it  looks  queer,  an'  sets  your  thoughts  gropin'  among  the 
cobwebs  of  mystery.  Ther's  sure  no  life  to  it  but  the  life 
of  rock.  This  great  overhang  has  just  been  cut  by  wash- 
outs of  centuries  in  spring,  when  the  creek's  in  flood,  an' 
it  just  happens  ther's  a  hot  sulphur  lake  on  top,  fed  by  a 
spring.  I've  known  it  these  years  an'  years.  Guess  it's 
sure  always  been  the  same.  It  ain't  got  enough  to  it  to 
scare  a  jack-rabbit." 

Joan  shook  her  head.  But  the  man  was  glad  to  see  the 
return  of  her  natural  expression,  and  that  her  smiling  eyes 
were  filled  with  a  growing  interest  He  knew  that  her 
strange  mood  was  passing. 

He  went  on  at  once  in  his  most  deliberate  fashion, 

"  You  needn't  to  shake  your  head,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile  of  confidence.  "  It's  jest  the  same  with  everything. 
It  sure  is.  We  make  life  what  it  is  for  ourselves.  It's 
the  same  for  everybody,  an'  each  feller  gets  busy  makin' 
it  different.  The  feller  that  gets  chasin'  trouble  don't 
need  to  run.  He  only  needs  to  set  around  and  shout 
Guess  it'll  come  along  if  he's  yearnin'  for  it.  But  it 
don't  come  on  its  own.  That's  sure  as  sure.  Keep  brain 
an'  body  busy  doin'  the  things  that  lie  handy,  an'  when 


WHEN  LIFE  HOLDS  NO  SHADOWS          213 

you  got  to  make  good  among  the  rocks  of  life,  why,  I 
sure  guess  you  won't  find  a  rock  half  big  enough  to  stop 
you." 

Watching  the  deep  glowing  eyes  of  the  man  Joan  felt 
that  his  confidence  was  not  merely  the  confidence  of  brave 
words.  A  single  glance  into  his  purposeful  face  left  the 
definite  impression  that  his  was  a  strength  that  is  given  to 
few.  It  was  the  strength  of  a  simple,  honest  mind  as  yet 
unfouled  by  the  grosser  evils  of  an  effete  civilization. 
His  was  the  force  and  courage  of  the  wild — the  impulse 
which  governs  all  creatures  who  live  in  the  midst  of  Na- 
ture's battle-grounds. 

"  That's — that's  because  you're  so  strong  you  feel  that 
way,"  she  said,  making  no  attempt  to  disguise  the  admi- 
ration she  felt.  "  The  burden  of  life  does  not  always  fall 
so  easily.  There  are  things,  too,  in  spite  of  what  you  say, 
that  we  cannot  control — evils,  I  mean  evils  which  afflict  us." 

Buck  glanced  away  down  the  creek.  Then  his  eyes 
came  back  to  her,  and  a  new  resolve  lay  behind  them. 

"  I'm  no  stronger  than  others,"  he  said.  "  Guess  I 

haven't  ha'f  the  strength  of  some.  I'd  say "  he 

paused.  Then  he  went  on,  his  eyes  gazing  fearlessly  into 
hers  :  "  I'd  say  I  haven't  ha'f  the  strength  of  a  gal  who 
gives  up  the  city — a  young  gal  jest  beginning  a  woman's 
life  with  'most  everything  in  her  favor — an'  comes  right 
out  here  to  farm  without  a  livin'  soul  to  pass  her  a  hand.  I 
ain't  got  ha'f  the  courage  of  a  gal  who  does  that  jest  be- 
cause she's  chased  by  thoughts  that  worry  her  an'  make  her 
days  no  better  than  to  set  her — hatin'  them.  Strength  ? 
Say,  when  you  ken  laff  an'  all  the  time  feel  that  life  ain't 
ha'f  so  pleasant  as  death,  why,  I'd  sure  say  ther'  ain't  no 
greater  strength  this  side  of  the  check-taker's  box." 


214  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Joan  could  hardly  believe  her  ears  as  she  listened.  As- 
tonishment, resentment,  helplessness,  incredulity,  all 
struggled  for  place.  How  had  this  man  discovered  her 
secret  ?  How  ?  How  ?  What  did  he  know  besides  ? 
For  a  moment  her  feelings  robbed  her  of  speech  and  be- 
trayed themselves  in  her  expressive  face. 

But  the  man's  smile,  so  easy,  so  disarming,  held  her. 
He  saw  and  understood,  and  he  hastened  to  reassure  her. 

"  Guess  I  ain't  pryin',"  he  said  bluntly.  "  These  things 
just  come  along  to  my  tongue,  feeling  you  were  troubled 
at  this — hill.  You've  told  me  a  heap  since  you  come  to 
the  farm.  You  told  me  things  which  I  don't  guess  you 
wer'  yearnin'  to  tell  any  one.  But  you  didn't  tell  'em 
with  your  tongue.  An'  I  don't  guess  you  need  to.  Set 
your  mind  easy.  You're  scared  to  death  of  some  trouble 
which  ain't  of  your  seekin' — wal,  I  don't  believe  in  such 
trouble." 

Then  he  laughed  in  so  unconcerned,  so  buoyant  and 
whole-hearted  a  fashion  that  Joan's  confidence  and  hope 
leapt  again. 

"Say,"  he  added,  as  he  saw  the  brightening  of  her  face, 
"  when  you  fancy  that  trouble's  gettin'  around,  when  you 
fancy  it's  good  an'  big,  an'  a  whole  heap  to  carry,  why, 
you  can  pass  it  right  on  to  me.  I'm  yearnin'  to  get  busy 
with  jest  sech  a  proposition." 

Buck's  manner  was  irresistible.  Joan  felt  herself  swept 
along  by  it.  She  longed  there  and  then  to  tell  him  the 
whole  of  her  miserable  little  story.  Yes,  he  made  it  seem 
so  small  to  her  now.  He  made  it,  at  the  moment,  seem 
like  nothing.  It  was  almost  as  though  he  had  literally 
lifted  her  burden  and  was  bearing  the  lion's  share  of  it 
himself.  Her  heart  thrilled  with  gratitude,  with  joy  in 


WHEN  LIFE  HOLDS  NO  SHADOWS          215 

this  man's  wonderful  comradeship.  She  longed  to  open 
her  heart  to  him — to  implore  him  to  shield  her  from  all 
those  terrible  anxieties  which  beset  her.  She  longed  to 
feel  the  clasp  of  his  strong  hand  in  hers  and  know  that 
it  was  there  to  support  her  always.  She  felt  all  these 
things  without  one  shadow  of  fear — somehow  his  very 
presence  dispelled  her  shadows. 

But  only  did  she  permit  her  warm  smile  to  convey 
something  of  all  she  felt  as  she  rejected  his  offer. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  asking,"  she  said 
gently.  Then  she  shook  her  head.  "  It  is  impossible. 
No  one  can  shift  the  burdens  of  life  on  to  the  shoulders  of 
another — however  willing  they  be.  No  one  has  the  right 
to  attempt  it.  As  we  are  born,  so  we  must  live.  The  life 
that  is  ours  is  ours  alone." 

Buck  caught  at  her  words  with  a  sudden  outburst  of 
passionate  remonstrance. 

"You're  wrong — dead  wrong/'  he  declared  vehemently, 
his  eyes  glowing  with  the  depth  of  feeling  stirring  him,  a 
hot  flush  forcing  its  way  through  the  deep  tanning  of  his 
cheeks.  "  No  gal  has  a  right  to  carry  trouble  with  a  man 
around  to  help.  She's  made  for  the  sunlight,  for  the 
warmth  an'  ease  of  life.  She's  made  to  set  around  an' 
take  in  all  those  good  things  the  good  God  meant  for 
her  so  she  can  pass  'em  right  on  to  the  kiddies  still  to 
be  born.  A  woman's  jest  the  mother  of  the  world.  An' 
the  men  she  sets  on  it  are  there  to  see  her  right.  The 
woman  who  don't  see  it  that  way  is  wrong — dead  wrong. 
An'  the  man  that  don't  get  right  up  on  to  his  hind 
legs  an'  do  those  things — wal,  he  ain't  a  man." 

It  was  a  moment  Joan  would  never  forget.  As  long 
as  she  lived  that  eager  face,  with  eyes  alight,  the  rapid 


216  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

tongue  pouring  out  the  sentiments  of  his  simple  heart 
must  ever  remain  with  her.  It  was  a  picture  of  virile 
manhood  such  as  in  her  earliest  youth  she  had  dreamed 
of,  a  dream  which  had  grown  dimmer  and  dimmer  as  she 
progressed  toward  womanhood  and  learned  the  ways  of 
the  life  that  had  been  hers.  Here  it  was  in  all  reality,  in 
all  its  pristine  simplicity,  but — she  gathered  up  her  reins 
and  moved  her  horse  round,  heading  him  toward  home. 
"  I'm  glad  I  came  out  here — in  the  wilderness,"  she  said 
earnestly.  "  I'm  glad,  too,  that  I  came  to  see  this  great 
black  hill.  Yes,  and  I'm  glad  to  think  that  I  have  begun 
the  lessons  which  this  great  big  world  is  going  to  teach 
me.  For  the  rest — we'd  better  go  home.  Look  !  The 
daylight  is  going." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  STUDY  IN  MISCHIEF 

NEARLY  three  months  had  passed  and  all  Beasley  Mel- 
ford's  affairs  were  amply  prospering.  His  new  saloon 
was  the  joy  of  his  heart.  It  had  been  completed  more 
than  a  week,  which  week  had  been  something  in  the  na- 
ture of  a  triumph  of  financial  success.  The  camp  was 
booming  as  he  had  never  dared  to  hope  it  would  boom. 
Traders  were  opening  up  business  all  round  him,  and  the 
output  of  gold  was  increasing  every  day.  But,  with  all 
this  rapid  development,  with  all  the  wrangling  and  com- 
petition going  on  about  him,  he  was  the  centre  of  the 
commercial  interests  of  Yellow  Creek,  and  his  saloon  was 
the  centre  of  all  its  traffic. 

But  he  was  quite  alive  to  the  fact  that  he  must  main- 
tain his  position  and  custom  by  keeping  well  in  line,  even 
just  a  little  ahead  of  all  competition.  He  knew  that  to 
rest  on  his  oars  would  be  to  court  swift  disaster.  It  must 
be  his  constant  thought  to  make  his  place  more  and  more 
attractive,  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  public  requirements, 
and  seize  every  opportunity  of  catering  for  them. 

His  saloon  was  no  better  than  a  gambling-hell  and 
drinking-booth,  the  dry  goods  side  of  his  enterprise  being 
almost  insignificant.  For  he  knew  that  the  more  surely 
his  customers  could  indulge  in  such  pastimes  in  compara- 
tive comfort  the  more  surely  he  would  keep  them.  So 
he  made  these  things  the  basis  of  his  trade.  But  there 


218  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

were  other  needs  to  be  provided  for.  Therefore,  on  the 
completion  of  his  new  saloon,  and  the  moment  his  vanity 
had  been  satisfied  by  the  erection  of  a  great  board  top, 
set  up  on  the  pitch  of  the  roof,  announcing  in  blatant  let- 
tering that  it  was  "  Melford's  Hotel,"  he  set  to  work  to 
erect  a  dance  hall  and  a  livery  barn.  He  foresaw  the 
necessity  of  running  a  stage,  and  he  never  lost  sight  of 
the  fact  that  a  great  number  of  the  women  of  the  class  he 
wished  to  see  about  were  invading  the  place.  Then,  too, 
the  dance  hall  could  be  used  as  a  boarding  establishment 
for  those  who  had  no  homes  of  their  own. 

It  was  a  precious  thought,  and,  after  a  journey  to 
Leeson  Butte  to  consult  his  partner,  these  matters  were 
put  in  hand.  He  no  longer  worked  single-handed.  His 
establishment  was  increased  by  the  advent  of  a  bartender, 
a  Chinese  cook,  and  a  livery  stable  keeper.  These,  and 
some  casual  labor  from  among  the  loafers,  supplied  him 
with  all  the  help  he  so  far  found  necessary. 

The  bar  and  the  gambling-tables  were  always  his  own 
care.  These  were  the  things  he  would  never  trust  to 
other  hands.  The  bartender  was  his  helper  only,  who  was 
never  allowed  to  escape  the  observation  of  his  lynx  eyes. 

Yes,  Beasley  Melford  was  flourishing  as  he  intended  to 
flourish,  and  his  satisfaction  was  enormous.  In  the 
mornings  he  was  always  busy  supervising  the  work,  in 
the  afternoons  he  gave  himself  what  leisure  his  restless 
spirit  demanded.  But  in  the  evenings  he  gathered  his 
harvest  by  rascally  methods  of  flagrant  extortion. 

It  was  during  the  latter  part  of  his  afternoon  leisure 
that  he  was  suddenly  disturbed  by  the  appearance  of 
Montana  Ike  in  his  bar.  He  wras  stretched  full  length 
upon  his  counter,  comfortably  reviewing  a  perfect  maze 


A  STUDY  IN  MISCHIEF  219 

of  mental  calculations  upon  the  many  schemes  which  he 
had  in  hand,  when  the  youngster  pushed  the  swing  door 
open  and  blustered  in. 

Beasley  was  sitting  up  in  an  instant.  He  hated  this 
sort  of  sudden  disturbance.  He  hated  men  who  rushed 
at  him.  He  could  never  be  certain  of  their  intentions. 
When  he  saw  who  his  visitor  was  there  was  very  little 
friendliness  in  his  greeting. 

"Wot  in  hell  you  want  rushin'  that  way?"  he  de- 
manded arrogantly.  "  Guess  your  thirst  ain't  on  a  time 
limit." 

But  the  ginger-headed  youth  ignored  his  ill-temper. 
He  was  too  full  of  his  own  affairs.  He  simply  grinned. 

"  Fish  out  them  durned  scales  o'  yours,"  he  cried 
gleefully.  "  Fish  'em  out,  an'  set  your  big  weights  on 
'em.  Ther'  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  chat  nor  drink  till  you 
weighed  in.  Then  I  guess  the  drink'll  be  right  up  to 
you." 

Beasley's  mood  changed  like  lightning.  He  swung 
over  behind  his  bar  and  dropped  to  the  floor  on  the  other 
side,  his  eyes  alight,  and  every  faculty  alert  for  trade. 

"  Wot's  it  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Struck  it  big  ?  "  he  went 
on  as  the  dingy  gold  scales  were  produced  from  the  shelf 
at  the  back.  Then  he  laughed  amiably.  "  It  needs  to 
be  big,  wakin'  me  in  my  slack  time." 

"  Oh,  it's  big  enuff,"  cried  Ike  confidently,  his  eager, 
young,  animal  face  alight  with  pleasure. 

He  watched  the  other  with  impatient  eyes  as  he 
deliberately  picked  out  the  weights.  But  Beasley  was 
too  slow,  and,  with  an  impatient  exclamation,  he  snatched 
up  the  biggest  of  them  and  set  it  on  the  somewhat 
delicate  scales  with  a  heavy  hand. 


220  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  Say,  you're  rapid  as  a  sick  funeral,"  he  cried.  r  I 
ain't  got  no  time  to  waste.  What  I  got  here'll  need  that 
—an'  more.  Ther' ! " 

Beasley's  temper  was  never  easy,  and  his  narrow  eyes 
began  to  sparkle. 

" You're  mighty  fresh,"  he  cried.     "Guess  I'm " 

But  his  remark  remained  unfinished.  With  a  boister- 
ous laugh  the  boy  flung  a  small  canvas  bag  on  the  counter 
and  emptied  its  contents  before  the  other's  astonished 
eyes. 

"Ther',"  he  cried  gleefully.  "  I  want  dollars  an'  dollars 
from  you.  An'  you'll  sure  see  they  ain't  duds." 

Beasley's  eyes  opened  wide.  In  a  moment  he  had  for- 
gotten his  ill-humor. 

From  the  gold  spread  out  before  him  he  looked  up 
into  the  other's  face  with  a  half-suspicious,  wholly  in- 
credulous stare. 

"  You  got  that  from  your  claim — to-day  ?  "  he  asked. 

"An'  wher'  in  hell  else?" 

"Sure!"  Beasley  fingered  the  precious  nuggets 
lovingly.  "  Gee !  Ther's  nigh  five  hundred  dollars 
there." 

"  Fi'  hundred — an'  more,"  cried  Ike  anxiously. 

But  Beasley's  astonishment  was  quickly  hidden  under 
his  commercial  instincts.  He  would  have  called  them 
"  commercial." 

"  We'll  soon  fix  that,"  he  said,  setting  the  scales. 

Ike  leant  against  the  bar  watching  the  man  finger  his 
precious  ore  as  he  placed  each  of  the  six  nuggets  in  the 
scale  and  weighed  them  separately.  He  took  the  result 
down  on  paper  and  wrorked  their  separate  values  out  at 
his  own  market  prices.  In  five  minutes  the  work  was 


A  STUDY  IN  MISCHIEF  221 

completed,  and  the  man  behind  the  bar  looked  up  with  a 
grin. 

"  I  don't  gener'ly  make  a  bad  guess,"  he  said  blandly. 
"  But  I  reckoned  'em  a  bit  high  this  journey.  Trier's  four 
hundred  an'  seventy-six  dollars  comin'  to  you — ha'f  cash 
an'  ha'f  credit.  Is  it  a  deal  ?  " 

The  other's  face  flamed  up.  A  volcanic  heat  set  him 
almost  shouting. 

"To  hell!"  he  cried  fiercely.  "Ther's  fi'  hundred 
dollars  ther'  if  ther's  a  cent.  An'  I  want  it  all  cash." 

Beasley  shook  his  head.  He  had  this  boy's  exact 
measure,  and  knew  just  how  to  handle  him. 

"The  scales  don't  lie,"  he  said.  "But  ther',  it's  the 
way  wi'  youse  fellers.  You  see  a  chunk  o'  gold  an'  you 
don't  see  the  quartz  stickin'  around  it.  Here,  I'll  put  a 
hundred  an'  seventy-six  credit  an'  the  rest  cash.  I  can't 
speak  fairer." 

He  drew  a  roll  of  bills  from  his  hip-pocket  and  began 
counting  the  three  hundred  out.  He  knew  the  sight  of 
them  was  the  best  argument  he  could  use.  It  never 
failed.  Nor  did  it  do  so  now. 

Ike  grumbled  and  protested  in  the  foulest  language  he 
was  capable  of,  but  he  grabbed  the  dollars  when  they 
were  handed  to  him,  and  stowed  them  into  his  hip-pocket 
with  an  eagerness  which  suggested  that  he  feared  the 
other  might  repent  of  his  bargain.  And  Beasley  quickly 
swept  the  precious  nuggets  away  and  securely  locked 
them  in  his  safe,  with  the  certain  knowledge  that  his 
profit  on  the  deal  was  more  than  cent  for  cent. 

"  You'll  take  rye,"  he  said  as  he  returned  his  keys  to 
his  pocket.  "  An'  seein'  it's  your  good  day,  an'  it's  on 
me,  we'll  have  it  out  o'  this  thirteen-year-old  bottle." 


222  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

He  pushed  the  bottle  across  the  counter  and  watched 
Ike  pour  himself  out  a  full  "four  fingers."  The  sight  of 
his  gluttony  made  Beasley  feel  glad  that  the  thirteen- 
year-old  bottle  had  been  replenished  that  morning  from 
the  common  "  rot-gut "  cask.  After  their  drink  he  be- 
came expansive. 

"  That's  an  elegant  claim  of  yours,  Ike,"  he  said,  tak- 
ing up  his  favorite  position  on  the  bar.  "It's  chock  full 
of  alluvial.  Don't  scarcely  need  washing.  Guess  I  must 
ha'  paid  you  two  thousand  dollars  an'  more  since — since 
we  got  busy.  Your  luck  was  mighty  busy  when  they  cast 
the  lots." 

"  Luck  ?  Guess  I'm  the  luckiest  hoboe  in  this  layout," 
Ike  cried  with  a  confidence  that  never  seemed  to  require 
the  support  of  rye  whisky. 

Beasley's  eyes  sparkled  maliciously. 

"  How  about  Pete  ?  "  he  grinned.  He  knew  that  Ike 
had  an  utter  detestation  of  Pete,  and  did  not  have  to 
guess  at  the  reason.  "  I  paid  him  more  than  that  by  ft* 
hundred.  How's  that  ?  " 

"  Tcha'  1  Pete  ain't  no  account  anyways,"  Ike  re- 
torted angrily.  "  Say,  he  pitches  his  dollars  to  glory  at 
poker  'most  every  night.  Pete  ain't  got  no  sort  o'-savee. 
You  don't  see  me  bustin'  my  wad  that  way." 

"  How  about  the  gals  ?  Guess  you  hand  'em  a  tidy 
pile." 

"  Gals  !  "  Ike  suddenly  became  thoughtful.  His  gaze 
wandered  toward  the  window.  Then  he  abruptly  turned 
back  to  the  bar  and  clamored  for  another  drink.  "  We'll 
have  that  thirteen-year-old,"  he  cried.  "  An'  guess  I'll 
have  a  double  dose.  Gals ! "  he  went  on,  with  a  sneer, 
as  the  other  watched  him  fill  a  brimming  tumbler. 


A  STUDY  IN  MISCHIEF  223 

"  Ther's  sure  on'y  one  gal  around  here.  That's  why  I 
got  around  now.  Guess  I'm  payin'  her  a  '  party '  call 
right  now,  'fore  the  folks  get  around.  Say,  Pm  goin'  to 
marry  that  gal.  She's  sure  a  golden  woman.  Golden! 
Gee,  it  sounds  good  ! " 

Beasley  grinned.  He  was  on  a  hot  trail  and  he  warmed 
to  his  work. 

"  Goin'  to  ask  her  now  ?  "  he  inquired  amiably,  eyeing 
the  spirit  the  man  had  poured  out. 

Ike  laughed  self-consciously. 

"  Sure,"  he  said,  draining  his  glass. 

"  What  about  Pete  ?  " 

Ike  looked  sharply  into  the  other's  grinning  face. 
Then  he  banged  his  glass  angrily  on  the  counter  and 
moved  toward  the  door. 

"  Pete  ken  go  plumb  to  hell ! "  he  cried  furiously  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  passed  out. 

Beasley  dropped  nimbly  from  his  counter  and  looked 
after  him  through  the  window.  He  saw  him  vault  into 
the  saddle  and  race  away  down  the  trail  in  the  direction 
of  the  farm. 

His  eyes  were  smiling  wickedly. 

"  Don't  guess  Pete's  chasin'  ther'  to  suit  you,  Master 
Ike,"  he  muttered.  "  Marry  that  gal,  eh  ?  Not  on  your 
life.  You  pore  silly  guys !  You're  beat  before  you  start 
— beat  a  mile.  Buck's  got  you  smashed  to  a  pulp. 
Kind  of  wish  I'd  given  you  less  cash  and  more  credit. 
Hello ! " 

He  swung  round  as  the  door  was  again  thrust  open. 
This  time  it  was  Blue  Grass  Pete  who  strode  into  the 
room. 

"Wher's   Ike?"  he  demanded  without  preamble  the 


224  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

moment  he  beheld  the  grinning  face  of  the  saloon- 
keeper. 

"  Gee  !  "  Beasley's  grin  suddenly  broke  out  into  a  loud 
laugh.  He  brought  his  two  hands  down  on  the  counter 
and  gave  himself  up  to  the  joy  of  the  moment. 

Pete  watched  him  with  growing  unfriendliness. 

11  You're  rattled  some,"  he  said  at  last,  with  elaborate 
sarcasm.  Then,  as  Beasley  stood  up  choking  with 
laughter  and  rubbing  his  eyes,  he  went  on  :  "  Seems  to 
me  I  asked  you  a  civil  question." 

Beasley  nodded,  and  guffawed  again. 

"You  sure  did,"  he  said  at  last,  stifling  his  mirth  as  he 
beheld  the  other's  threatening  frown  "Well,  I  ain't 
laffin'  at  you.  It's — it's  jest  at  things." 

But  Pete  had  no  sense  of  humor.  He  disliked  Beasley, 
and  simply  wanted  his  information  now. 

"  Ike  been  along?"  he  demanded  doggedly. 

Beasley  spluttered.  Then  he  subsided  into  a  malicious 
grin  again. 

"  Sure,"  he  said.  "  He's  been  in  with  a  fat  wad.  Say, 
he's  a  lucky  swine.  'Most  everything  comes  his  way. 
Guess  he  can't  never  touch  bad.  He's  ahead  on  the  game, 
he's  a  golden-haired  pet  with  the  gals,  an'  he  gits  gold  in 
— lumps." 

But  Pete's  dark  face  and  hungry  eyes  showed  no  ap- 
preciation, and  Beasley  knew  that  the  man's  mood  was 
an  ugly  one. 

"  Wher's  he  now  ?  " 

"  Can't  jest  say.  I  didn't  ask  him  wher'  he  was  goin'. 
Y'  see  I  cashed  his  gold,  and  we  had  a  drink.  He  seemed 
excited  some.  Guess  he  was  sort  of  priming  himself. 
Maybe  he's  gone  along  to  the  gals.  Have  a  drink  ?  " 


A  STUDY  IN  MISCHIEF  225 

"  No— yes,  give  us  a  horn  of  rye." 

The  man  behind  the  bar  pushed  the  bottle  across. 

"  What  you  needin'  him  for  ?  "  he  asked  with  apparent 
unconcern. 

Pete  snatched  at  his  drink. 

"  That  ain't  your  affair,"  he  retorted  surlily. 

"  Sure  it  ain't.     I  jest  asked — casual." 

Pete  banged  his  empty  glass  on  the  counter. 

"I'm  needin'  him  bad,"  he  cried,  his  eyes  furiously 
alight.  "  I'm  needin'  him  cos  I  know  the  racket  he's  on. 
See  ?  He  quit  his  claim  early  cos — cos " 

"  Cos  he's  goin'  to  pay  a  *  party '  call  on  that  Golden 
Woman,"  cried  Beasley,  appearing  to  have  made  a  sud 
den  discovery.  "  I  got  it,  now.  That's  why  he  was  in 
sech  a  hurry.  That's  why  he  needed  a  good  dose  o'  rye. 
Say,  that  feller  means  marry  in'  that  gal.  I've  heard  tell 
he's  got  it  all  fixed  with  her.  I've  heard  tell  she's  dead 
sweet  on  him.  Wai,  I  ain't  sure  but  wot  it's  natural. 
He's  a  good  looker ;  so  is  she.  An'  he's  a  bright  boy. 
Guess  he's  got  the  grit  to  look  after  a  gal  good.  He's  a 
pretty  scrapper.  Another  drink  ?  " 

Pete  refilled  his  glass.  His  fury  was  at  bursting-point, 
and  Beasley  reveled  in  the  devil  now  looking  out  of  his 
angry  eyes. 

"He's  gone  across  ther'  now?"  he  demanded,  after 
swallowing  his  second  drink.  His  question  was  omi- 
nously quiet. 

Beasley  saw  the  man's  hands  finger  the  guns  at  his 
waist.  It  was  a  movement  the  sight  of  which  gave  him 
a  wonderful  satisfaction. 

"  Seems  like  it,"  he  said.  "  Though  course  I  can't  rightly 
say.  I  see  him  ride  off  down  the  trail  that  way " 


226  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  Here,  I'll  take  another  drink.     I'm  goin'  after " 

"  Say,  you  ain't  goin'  to  butt  in  with  two  folks  courtin'  ?" 
cried  Beasley,  blandly  innocent. 

But  Pete  had  no  reply.  He  drained  his  third  drink  and, 
flinging  the  glass  down,  bolted  out  of  the  bar  ;  while 
Beasley  turned  with  a  malicious  chuckle,  and  scrupulously 
entered  up  three  drinks  against  the  man's  name  on  the  slate. 

"  I'd  give  somethin'  to  see  it,"  he  muttered.  Then  he 
rubbed  out  the  entry  he  had  made.  "  Guess  Fll  make  it 
six  drinks.  He's  too  rattled  to  remember." 

Ten  minutes  later  a  number  of  men  were  lounging  in 
the  saloon,  and  Beasley,  in  the  leisure  of  administering  to 
their  wants,  was  relating  to  them  the  story  of  the  after- 
noon's events.  At  the  conclusion  he  added  his  own  com- 
ment, which  was  not  without  definite  purpose. 

"  Say,  if  they  ain't  jest  like  two  dogs  worritin'  a  bone 
you  got  me  plumb  beat,"  he  said.  Then  he  added  with 
an  air  of  outraged  virtue :  "  I'd  like  to  say  right  here  she's 
jest  playin'  them  fellers  for  their  wads.  Oh,  she's  a  keen 
one,  her  eyes  is  right  on  to  business.  She'll  sure  have 
'em  shootin'  each  other  right  up.  Seems  to  me  a  gal  like 
that  ain't  no  right  in  this  yer  city.  She's  a  scandal  to  the 
place.  An'  a  danger.  Wot  we  fellers  needs  to  figure  on 
is  the  liberty  an'  safety  of  our  citizens,  an'  anything  cal- 
c'lated  to  be  a  danger  to  that  needs  to  git  seen  to." 

Some  of  the  men  concurred  half-heartedly.  They  were 
men  who  had  come  into  the  camp  with  the  rush,  and  were 
anxious  to  keep  in  with  the  saloon-keeper.  Still,  even 
they  were  very  little  stirred  by  his  appeal.  They  cared 
not  the  least  bit  in  the  world  who  was  shot  up,  or  who 
did  the  shooting,  so  long  as  they  were  not  personally  con- 
cerned beyond  the  r61e  of  spectators 


A  STUDY  IN  MISCHIEF  227 

So  for  once  his  mischief  fell  flat.  It  was  too  early  in 
the  day  to  make  the  impression  he  needed.  They  were 
not  sufficiently  primed  with  rye.  So  Beasley  contented 
himself  with  insinuating  the  bottle  toward  doubtful  cus- 
tomers, and  easing  his  disappointment  by  making  all  the 
trade  he  could. 

But  presently  a  diversion  occurred  by  the  advent  of 
Buck.  He  rode  up,  his  great  horse  loaded  down  with  the 
carcasses  of  three  splendid  deer.  He  had  brought  them 
in  for  sale.  Game  was  a  precious  thing  in  this  camp, 
where  a  diet  of  simple  beef  ruled. 

The  moment  he  displayed  his  wares  there  was  a  rush 
to  bid  for  them,  and  Beasley,  much  to  his  chagrin,  found 
himself  forced  to  pay  boom  prices  before  he  could  secure 
them  for  retailing.  He  paid  ungraciously  enough.  If 
there  was  one  man  more  than  another  in  the  camp  he  be- 
grudged anything  to  it  was  Buck.  Besides,  it  made  him 
utterly  furious  to  think  that  he  never  came  up  against  this 
man  on  any  debatable  matter  but  what  he  managed  to 
come  off  worst. 

However,  his  policy  forced  him  to  stifle  his  resentment, 
and  he  paid,  mentally  adding  another  item  to  the  long  list 
of  his  personal  animosities  to  be  wiped  out  at  some  future 
date. 

But  Buck's  presence  was  an  opportunity  for  mischief 
not  to  be  altogether  missed.  Nor  was  Beasley  the  man  to 
let  the  moment  pass  without  availing  himself  of  it.  Buck's 
interest  in  Joan  was  something  to  be  played  upon  at  all 
times.  Therefore  he  drew  him  aside  in  a  manner  as  por- 
tentous and  ingratiating  as  he  could  make  it. 

Buck,  wondering  at  his  drift,  submitted  all  unwillingly. 

"  Say,"   Beasley  began,  the  moment  they  were  out  of 


228  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

ear-shot  of  the  rest,  "  guess  you  ain't  bin  around  the  farm 
lately — I  mean  this  afternoon  ?  " 

Buck  looked  him  coldly  in  the  eye. 

-No— why?" 

Beasley  returned  his  look  in  consummate  irritation.  He 
pretended  to  be  annoyed  at  his  coolness.  He  shrugged 
and  turned  away,  speaking  over  his  shoulder  as  he  went 

"  Oh,  nuthin'  !     Guess  it  might  be  as  well  if  you  had." 

He  went  back  to  his  bar,  and  in  a  moment  was  busy 
again  at  his  trade.  Buck  looked  after  him  for  one  doubt- 
ing second.  Then  he  too  turned  away  and  went  out  to 
his  horse. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  ABILITIES  OF  MRS.   RANSFORD 

JOAN  was  smiling  happily,  watching  the  waging  of  a 
droll  little  farmyard  warfare.  Just  now  her  life  was  run- 
ning very  smoothly,  and  the  shadows  of  memory  were 
steadily  receding.  She  had  almost  forgotten  the  few  un- 
pleasant moments  when  she  had  first  beheld  the  repellent 
ugliness  of  Devil's  Hill  nearly  a  week  ago.  Since  then 
nothing  had  occurred  to  raise  fresh  alarm,  and  memory, 
with  that  pleasant  knack  inspired  of  perfect  physical 
health,  had  gently  mellowed  and  lost  something  of  its 
power  to  disturb. 

It  was  a  curious  scene.  The  farm  was  still,  so  still,  in 
the  glowing  afternoon  heat.  The  cattle  were  out  in  the 
pastures  filling  themselves  with  the  succulent  grass  and 
dozing  the  long  daylight  hours  away.  The  "  hired  "  man 
was  out  with  the  team,  breaking  a  new  patch  of  prairie 
land  in  the  interim  between  the  haying  and  harvesting. 
The  hogs  were  gently  snuffling  in  their  pens,  and  a  few 
hens  and  cockerels  were  amiably  flirting  whilst  scratching 
about  amongst  the  barn  litter  in  that  busy,  inconsequent 
manner  so  suggestive  to  the  human  mind  of  effort  for  the 
sheer  delight  of  being  busy. 

It  was  a  scene  such  as  she  had  often  dreamed  of,  and 
something  which  very  nearly  approached  her  ideal. 

Here,  in  one  corner  of  the  yard,  where  she  stood,  sun- 
bonneted  to  shelter  her  face  from  the  burning  attentions 


230  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

of  the  summer  sun,  leaning-  idly  against  a  water  barrel 
standing  at  the  corner  of  the  barn,  she  watched  the  farm- 
yard comedy  which  was  rapidly  threatening  to  disturb  the 
general  peace.  A  large  hen  with  a  late-hatched  brood  of 
chicks,  whose  colors  suggested  the  polygamous  conditions 
under  which  her  matrimonial  affairs  were  carried  on,  with 
feathers  ruffled  and  comb  flaming,  with  head  lowered  and 
beak  agape,  was  angrily  defying  an  absurd-looking  pig 
which  had  scarcely  passed  its  sucking  age. 

They  had  met  quite  suddenly  round  the  corner  of  the  im- 
plement shed.  For  the  moment  they  stood  disconcerted, 
while  the  agitated  hen  clucked  alarm  at  her  offspring. 
The  pig,  squealing  in  a  high  treble,  was  standing  with 
snout  twitching  and  front  feet  apart,  a  picture  of  idiotic 
confusion.  Perhaps  the  hen,  with  the  superior  feminine 
knowledge  of  her  age,  understood  something  of  the  situa- 
tion, and  appreciated  the  young  porker's  inability.  Any- 
way, she  took  the  initiative  in  aggression,  and,  vainly 
struggling  to  cover  her  rather  riotous  brood  with  out- 
spread wings,  cackled  furiously  and  prepared  for  the  on- 
slaught which  secretly  she  knew  was  not  forthcoming. 

The  porker's  mind  seemed  to  be  in  a  whirl  of  doubt, 
for  he  looked  vainly  from  side  to  side  to  find  some 
adequate  means  of  escape.  His  sense  did  not  carry  him 
sufficiently  far  to  prompt  him  to  turn  tail  and  bolt  for 
safety.  He  just  stood  there  and  continued  his  helpless 
baby  squealing.  This  was  all  the  old  hen  needed  to 
drive  her  to  extremities.  Realizing  his  weakness  she 
gave  one  fluttering  spring,  scattering  her  chicks  in  all 
directions,  pecked  the  pig's  nose  violently,  turned  some- 
thing like  a  somersault  as  she  landed  on  the  ground, 
gathered  herself  together,  and  incontinently  fled,  leaving 


THE  ABILITIES  OF  MRS.  RANSFORD        231 

her  brood  to  care  for  themselves.  Thus  the  pig  \\as  left 
looking  after  her  with  an  expression  in  its  silly  eyes  that 
suggested  to  the  girl  nothing  so  much  as  an  amazed 
wonder  as  to  what  the  fuss  was  all  about. 

Joan  stood  convulsed  with  laughter.  The  pig  interested 
her  vastly  more  than  the  hen,  and  she  waited  the  further 
working  of  its  stupid  mind.  But  she  was  disappointed. 
Its  momentary  confusion  had  passed,  and,  lowering  its 
pink  snout,  it  groveled  on  in  search  of  offal,  the  delights 
of  which  its  young  mind  was  just  awakening  to. 

She  had  moved  away  to  pass  on  toward  the  house 
when  she  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  a  harsh  laugh 
close  behind  her.  She  turned  and  found  herself  staring 
into  the  grinning  face  of  Montana  Ike. 

She  was  angry  and  not  without  a  qualm  of  apprehen- 
sion. This  man  had  become  a  constant  caller  at  the  farm 
at  all  sorts  of  odd  and  unexpected  moments.  And  his 
attitude  was  such  that  she  thoroughly  resented  him.  In 
his  vaunting,  braggadocio  manner  he  had  assumed  a  sort 
of  proprietary  interest  in  her  and  her  affairs. 

The  moment  she  faced  him,  his  confident  attitude 
became  more  pronounced. 

"Comic,  ain't  it?"  he  suggested.  Then  he  added,  as 
though  to  assure  her  of  his  appreciation  :  "  Nigh  as  comic 
as  a  cirkis." 

But  all  Joan's  delight  in  the  scene  was  gone.  Her 
beautiful  eyes  were  sparkling  angrily.  She  made  up  her 
mind  then  and  there  to  be  rude  to  the  man.  She  would 
not  have  him  about  the  place. 

"What  do  you  want? "  she  inquired  bluntly. 

The  boy's  grin  remained,  but  his  furtive  eyes  opened  a 
shade  wider. 


232  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"Wot  do  I  want?  Gee!  You're  feelin'  friendly." 
Then  he  put  on  a  manner  he  intended  to  be  facetious. 
"  An'  me  left  my  patch  o'  pay-dirt,  an'  all,  to  pay  a 
*  party '  call.  Say,  Miss  Golden,  that  ain't  sassiety  ways 
in  this  yer  camp." 

His  attempt  at  pleasantry  went  for  nothing.  Joan, 
studying  the  man  closely,  saw  that  his  face  was  flushed, 
and,  even  at  that  distance,  she  could  smell  the  drink  he 
had  been  imbibing.  She  must  get  rid  of  him,  but  it  was 
not  so  easy  to  her  gentle  nature.  However,  she  took  a 
firm  stand. 

"  Maybe  not,"  she  said  coldly.  "  But  when  people 
make  '  party '  calls  they  generally  do  it  at  convenient 
times.  I'm  very  busy." 

The  man  laughed  in  the  harsh  manner  she  disliked  and 
rather  feared. 

"  Kind  o'  seemed  busy  when  I  got  around.  Y'  see  you 
was  sure  that  busy  you  didn't  hear  my  hoss  comin' 
along,  you  never  see  me  git  off  him  an*  leave  him  back 
ther',  an'  me  come  along  over  an'  stand  watchin'  you 
doin'  nuthin'  fer  nigh  fi*  minutes.  Oh,  you're  sure 
busy  ! " 

Joan  flushed.  She  knew  she  had  lied,  but  to  be  told  so 
by  this  man  was  infuriating.  She  made  no  attempt  to 
further  disguise  her  feelings. 

"  I  said  I  was  busy,"  she  cried  deliberately.  "  Surely 
that  should  be  sufficient." 

But  the  man  had  no  intention  of  accepting  his  dis- 
missal. 

"  It  jest  depends  wot  a  feller's  come  around  for,"  he 
said,  no  whit  disconcerted.  "  Mebbe  you  won't  find 
you're  busy  when  you  heard  what  I  got  to  say."  He 


THE  ABILITIES  OF  MRS.  RANSFORD        233 

laughed  immoderately.  Beasley's  whisky  was  at  work, 
and  he  had  no  fear  for  the  purpose  in  hand. 

Suddenly  he  dived  a  hand  into  his  hip-pocket  and  drew 
out  the  bills  the  saloon-keeper  had  paid  him. 

"  Look  at  them,"  he  cried  in  a  voice  that  was  high- 
pitched  with  elation.  "  Ther's  dollars  an'  dollars  ther', 
but  'tain't  nuthin'  to  wot's  to  come.  Say,  I  got  another 
cache  o'  gold  waitin'  back  ther1  at  my  shack,  but  I  ain't 
handin'  it  to  Beasley,"  he  went  on  cunningly.  "  Oh,  no, 
not  me  !  I'm  a  business  guy,  I  am.  I  hold  that  up,  an' 
all  the  rest  I  git  from  my  patch,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  cash  it  in 
Leeson  Butte,  at  the  bank,  fer  a  proper  exchange.  See  ? 
Oh,  I  ain't  no  sucker,  I  ain't.  An'  a  feller  needs  a  heap 
o'  dollars,  treatin'  his  gal  right." 

Joan  hardly  knew  how  to  deal  with  such  a  situation. 
Besides,  the  now  obvious  condition  of  the  man  alarmed 
her.  However,  he  gave  her  no  opportunity  to  reply. 
For,  delighted  with  his  own  talk,  he  went  on  promptly  — 

"  Now  I  tho't  a  whole  heap  since  I  got  this  wad.  A  wad 
like  this  takes  you  thinkin',  that  is,  ef  you  ain't  a  low-down 
rattle-brain  like  Pete,  or  a  psalm-smitin'  son-of-a-moose 
like  that  feller,  Buck.  Course  they  ain't  got  no  sort  o' 
savvee,  anyways,  so  they  don't  count  nuthin'.  But  wi'  a 
feller  like  me  things  is  difFrent.  Now,  this  is  what  I 
got  fixed.  Y'  see  you  can't  have  no  sort  of  a  time  in  this 
yer  camp,  but  it's  difFrent  in  Leeson  Butte.  Guess  we'll 
get  a  buggy  from  the  camp  an'  drive  into  Leeson.  Ther's 
dance  halls  ther',  an'  they  run  a  decent  faro  joint  at  a 
place  I  know.  An'  they  sell  elegant  rye,  too.  Wai, 
we'll  git  that  buggy,  an'  git  fixed  up  reg'  iar  in  Leeson, 
an'  have  a  bully  time,  an'  git  right  back  to  here  an*  run 
this  yer  farm  between  us.  How's  that  ?  " 


234  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  I — I  don't  think  I  understand." 

Joan's  alarm  grew.  This  man  was  deliberately  pro- 
posing to  marry  her.  Supported  by  the  nerve  his  half- 
drunken  condition  inspired,  his  senses  were  so  inflamed 
that  he  took  the  whole  matter  for  granted.  She  looked 
into  his  sensual  young  face,  the  hard  eyes,  and  at  the 
loose  lips  that  surrounded  his  unclean  teeth,  and  some- 
thing like  panic  seized  her.  However,  she  knew  she 
must  not  show  her  fear. 

But  he  was  waiting.  And  in  reality  her  reply  came 
without  any  hesitation.  She  shook  her  head. 

"  You've  made  a  mistake,"  she  said  decidedly  but 
gently.  "  I  have  no  intention  of  marrying  anybody." 
Then,  taking  her  courage  in  both  hands,  she  permitted 
something  of  her  dislike  and  contempt  to  creep  into  her 
manner.  "It  seems  to  me  you  take  a  great  deal  too 
much  for  granted.  You  come  here  when  you  think  you 
will,  wholly  uninvited,  and,  from  the  first,  you  hint 
broadly  that  you  regard  me  as — as  the  person  you 
intend  to  marry.  That  is  presumption,  to  put  it  mildly, 
and  I  have  no  use  for  people  who — presume." 

She  moved  as  though  to  return  to  the  house.  But 
Ike,  all  his  confidence  suddenly  merged  into  a  volcanic 
heat,  reached  out  a  hand  to  detain  her.  His  hand  came 
into  rough  contact  with  the  soft  flesh  of  her  shoulder, 
and,  shaking  it  off,  she  faced  him  with  flaming  eyes. 

"  Don't  dare  to  do  that  again,"  she  cried,  with  bosom 
heaving.  "  Go,  leave  this  farm  instantly.  Remember  you 
are  trespassing  here  ! " 

Her  anger  had  outweighed  all  her  alarm,  even,  per- 
haps, all  discretion.  For  the  man  was  in  no  mood  to 
accept  his  dismissal  easily. 


THE  ABILITIES  OF  MRS.  RANSFORD        23$ 

"So  that's  it,  is  it?"  he  cried  with  a  sudden  hoarse- 
ness. "Oho,  my  lady!  We're  putting  on  airs/'  he 
sneered.  "Not  good  enough,  eh?  Presuming,  am  I? 
An'  who  in  blazes  are  you  that  you  can't  be  touched? 
Seems  to  me  a  decent  honest  citizen's  jest  as  good  fer 
you  as  fer  any  other  gal,  an'  my  dollars  are  clean.  What 
in  thunder's  amiss?"  Then  his  heat  lessened,  and  his 
manner  became  more  ingratiating.  "  See  here,  Golden," 
he  went  on  persuasively,  "  you  don't  mean  that,  sure ! 
Wot's  the  matter  with  me?  I  ain't  weak-kneed,  nor 
nuthin'.  I  ain't  scared  o'  no  man.  I'd  scrap  the  devil  ef 
you  ast  me.  An'  say,  just  think  wot  we  ken  do  with  the 
dollars.  You'd  make  a  real  upstander  in  a  swell  house, 
with  folks  waitin'  around  on  you,  an'  di'monds  an'  things. 
Say,  I'm  jest  bustin'  to  make  good  like  that.  You 
can't  jest  think  how  much  gold  ther'  is  in  my  patch — an' 
you  brought  it  along  with  you.  You  give  it  to  me — 
your  luck." 

There  was  something  almost  pathetic  in  his  pleading, 
and  for  a  brief  moment  a  shade  of  sympathy  softened  the 
girl. 

"  Please  don't  persist,  Ike,"  she  said  almost  gently. 
"  Still,  I  can  never  marry  you.  It's — it's — absurd,"  she 
added,  with  a  touch  of  impatience  she  could  not  wholly 
keep  back. 

But  that  touch  of  impatience  suddenly  set  fire  again  to 
the  man's  underlying  intolerance  of  being  thwarted. 

"Absurd,  is  it?"  He  laughed  with  a  curious  vicious- 
ness  which  once  more  disturbed  the  girl.  "  Absurd  fer 
you  to  marry  me,"  he  cried  harshly.  "  Absurd  fer  you, 
cos  I  ain't  got  no  smarmy  eddication,  cos  I  ain't  dressed 
in  swaller  tails  an'  kids,  same  as  city  folks.  Oh,  I  know  I 


236  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

You're  a  leddy — a  city-raised  leddy,  an'  I — I'm  jest  a 
prairie  hog.  That's  it.  You  ain't  got  no  use  fer  me. 
You  jest  come  along  right  here  an'  laff,  an'  laff  at  us 
folks.  Oh,  you  needn't  to  say  you  hav'n't ! "  as  she 
raised  a  protesting  hand.  "Think  I'm  blind,  think  I'm 
deaf.  Me !  Say,  you  shown  it  right  along  jest  so  plain 
ther'  wer'n't  no  need  to  tell  it  in  langwidge."  He  broke 
off  for  a  moment  as  though  his  anger  had  robbed  him  of 
further  speech,  and  Joan  watched  the  growing  purpose  in 
his  hot  eyes.  Her  own  face  was  the  color  of  marble. 
She  was  inwardly  trembling,  but  she  stood  her  ground 
with  eyes  stonily  cold.  She  made  no  attempt  to  speak 
now,  or  defend  herself  against  his  accusations.  She 
knew  it  would  be  useless.  Only  she  longed  in  her  mind 
for  the  presence  of  Buck  to  protect  her  from  the  insult 
she  felt  to  be  coming.  Nor  was  she  mistaken. 

The  man's  pause  gave  way  before  the  surge  of  his 
anger. 

"  See  here,"  he  suddenly  cried,  as  though  he  had  just 
arrived  at  a  decision.  "  I  ain't  an  easy  man  to  laff  at,  as 
the  folks  around  here  knows.  Ther'  ain't  no  man  around 
here  can  laff  at  Montana  Ike,  an'  I  don't  guess  no  gal  wi' 
red  ha'r's  goin'  to  neither.  See  ? "  He  glanced  swiftly 
round  the  farm.  There  was  no  one  in  sight.  Suddenly 
one  great  hand  shot  out  and  he  seized  the  girl  by  the  arm 
in  a  crushing,  powerful  grasp  and  dragged  her  to  him. 

"  You  guess  you  ken  laff  at  me,"  he  cried,  seizing  her 
with  both  hands  and  holding  her  in  spite  of  her  struggles. 
*'  Wai,  you  ken  laff  after  you  kissed  me.  You  ken  laff,  oh, 
yes  !  when  I  tell  the  folks  you  kissed  me.  Seems  to  me 
the  laff'll  mostly  be  with  me." 

He  drew  her  toward  him  while  she  struggled  violently 


THE  ABILITIES  OF  MRS.  RANSFORD        237 

Then  she  shrieked  for  help,  but  she  knew  the  only  help 
she  could  hope  for  was  the  wholly  inadequate  help  of  her 
housekeeper.  She  shrieked  Mrs.  Ransford's  name  with 
all  her  power,  while  the  man's  face  came  nearer.  It  was 
quite  hopeless ;  she  knew  she  could  not  defend  herself. 
And  the  half-drunken  man  was  laughing  as  though  he 
enjoyed  her  terror. 

She  felt  his  hot  breath  on  her  cheeks,  she  closed  her 
eyes  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  his  grinning  face.  He  released 
his  hold  with  one  hand  and  flung  his  arm  about  her  waist. 
She  fought  with  might  and  main,  shrieking  with  all  the 
power  of  her  lungs.  She  suddenly  felt  the  impress  of  his 
hot  lips  on  her  cheek,  not  once,  but  a  dozen  times. 
Then  of  a  sudden  he  released  her  with  a  bitter  oath,  as 
the  shrieking  voice  of  Mrs.  Ransford  sounded  close  by, 
and  the  thwack  of  a  heavy  broom  fell  upon  his  head  and 
shoulders. 

"I'll  teach  you,  you  miserable  hoboe  ! "  cried  the  old 
woman's  strident  voice  as  her  powerful  arms  swung  her 
lusty  broom  aloft.  "I'll  teach  you,  you  scallawag !  " 
Thwack  fell  the  broom,  and,  releasing  Joan,  the  man 
sought  to  protect  his  head  with  his  arms.  "  I'll  give  you 
a  dose  you  won't  fergit,  you  scum  o'  creation ! "  Thwack 
went  the  broom  again.  "  Wait  till  the  folks  hear  tell  o' 
this,  you  miser'ble,  miser'ble  cur ! "  Again  the  broom 
fell,  and  the  man  turned  to  flee.  "  You'd  run,  would 
you  ?  Git  a  fork,  Miss  Joan  !  "  With  a  surprising  rush 
the  fat  creature  lunged  another  smash  at  the  man's  head 
with  her  favorite  weapon. 

The  blow  fell  short,  for  Ike  had  made  good  his  retreat. 
And  curiously  enough  he  made  no  attempt  to  disarm  her, 
or  otherwise  stand  his  ground  once  he  was  beyond  the 


238  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

range  of  her  blows.  Perhaps  he  realized  the  immensity 
of  his  outrage,  perhaps  he  foresaw  what  might  be  the  re- 
sult to  himself  when  the  story  of  his  assault  reached  the 
camp.  Perhaps  it  was  simply  that  he  had  a  wholesome 
terror  of  this  undoubted  virago.  Anyway,  he  bolted  for 
his  horse  and  vaulted  into  the  saddle,  galloping  away  as 
though  pursued  by  something  far  more  hurtful  than  a  fat 
farm-wife's  avalanche  of  vituperation. 

"  Mussy  on  us ! "  cried  the  old  woman,  flinging  her 
broom  to  the  ground  as  the  man  passed  out  of  sight 
"  Mussy  me,  wot/s  he  done  to  you,  my  pretty  ?  "  she  cried, 
rushing  to  the  girl's  side  and  catching  her  to  her  great 
bosom.  "  There,  there,  don't  Je  cry,  don't  'e  to  cry  for  a 
scallawag  like  that,"  she  said,  as  the  girl  buried  her  face 
on  her  shoulder  and  sobbed  as  though  her  heart  would 
break.  "  There,  there,"  she  went  on,  patting  the  girl's 
shoulder,  "  don't  'e  demean  yerself  weppin'  over  a  miser- 
'ble  skunk  like  that.  Kiss  yer,  did  he  ?  Kiss  yer !  Him  ! 
Wai,  he  won't  kiss  nobody  no  more  when  the  folks  is  put 
wise.  An'  I'll  see  they  gets  it  all.  You,  a  'Merican  gal, 
kissed  by  a  hog  like  that.  Here,  wipe  yer  cheeks  wi'  this 
overall ;  guess  they'll  sure  fester  if  you  don't.  Ther',  that's 
better,"  she  went  on  as  Joan,  choking  back  her  sobs, 
presently  released  herself  from  her  bear-like  embrace. 

"  It's  my  own  fault,"  the  girl  said  tearfully.  "  I  ought 
never  to  have  spoken  to  him  at  all.  I " 

But  Mrs.  Ransford  gave  her  no  chance  to  finish  what 
she  had  to  say. 

"  Wot  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  she  cried,  with  a  power  of  self- 
righteousness.  "  Wot  did  I  tell  you  ?  You  ain't  got  no 
right  to  git  a  hob-a-nobbin'  with  sech  scum.  They're  all 
scallawags,  every  one  of  'em.  Men  ! — say,  these  yer  hills 


THE  ABILITIES  OF  MRS.  RANSFORD        239 

is  the  muck-hole  o*  creation,  an'  the  men  is  the  muck.  I 
orter  know.  Didn't  1  marry  George  D.  Ransford,  an' 
didn't  I  raise  twins  by  him,  as  you  might  say,  an'  didn't  I 
learn  thereby,  an'  therewith,  as  the  sayin'  is,  that  wi'  muck 
around  there's  jest  one  way  o'  cleanin'  it  up  an'  that's  with 
a  broom  !  Come  right  into  the  house,  pretty.  You're 
needin'  hot  milk  to  soothe  your  nerves,  my  pore,  pore  I 
Come  right  in.  Guess  I'm  a  match  fer  any  male  muck 
around  these  hills.  Mussy  on  us,  what's  that !  " 

Both  women  started  and  stood  staring  with  anxious, 
terrified  eyes  down  the  trail  which  led  to  the  camp, 
Two  shots  had  been  fired  almost  simultaneously,  and  now, 
as  they  waited  in  horrified  silence,  two  more  shots  rang 
out,  echoing  against  the  hills  in  the  still  air  with  ominous 
threat.  After  that  all  was  quiet  again. 

Presently  the  strained  look  in  the  farm-wife's  face  re- 
laxed, and  she  turned  to  her  charge. 

"That's  him,"  she  cried,  with  a  swift  return  to  her 
angry,  contemptuous  manner.  "  It's  him  showin'  off — 
like  all  them  scallawags.  Come  right  in,  missie,"  she 
added,  holding  out  her  hands  to  lead  the  girl  home. 

But  her  kindly  intention  received  an  unexpected  shock. 
Joan  brushed  her  roughly  aside,  and  her  look  was  almost 
of  one  suddenly  demented. 

"No,  no,"  she  cried  in  a  voice  of  hysterical  passion. 
"  You  don't  understand.  You  can't  understand.  Those 
shots — oh  !  It  is  my  fate — my  curse.  I  must  go  1 " 

And  she  fled  down  the  trail  in  the  direction  whence  the 
sound  had  proceeded — fled,  leaving  Mrs.  Ransford  staring 
stupidly  after  her,  a  prey  to  utter  bewilderment 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  MEETING  ON   THE  TRAIL 

THE  quiet  was  profound.  All  the  world  seemed  so  still 
There  was  no  sign  of  life,  yet  the  warm  air  was  thrilling 
with  the  unseen  life  of  an  insect  world.  The  heat  haze 
rose  from  the  soft,  deep  surface  sand  of  the  trail,  and  the 
grass-lined  edges  looked  parched  beneath  the  glare  of  the 
summer  sun.  There  was  no  breath  from  the  mountains 
down  here,  where  the  forest  trees  crowded  in  on  either 
side,  forming  a  great  screen  against  the  cooling  breezes, 
and  holding  the  heat  like  the  sides  cf  an  oven. 

A  startled  bird  fluttered  amongst  the  branches  of  a  tree 
with  that  restless  movement  which  so  surely  indicates  the 
alarm  of  some  subtle  sense  which  no  other  creature  pos- 
sesses in  so  keen  a  degree.  An  answering  rustle  came 
from  near  by.  And  in  a  moment  this  was  followed  by  a 
bustling  rush  among  the  leaves  as  two  winged  mates  fled 
farther  into  the  forest.  Yet  the  sudden  flight  seemed 
quite  unnecessary. 

Again  the  stillness  was  broken.  This  time  it  was  by 
the  harsh  voice  of  a  black  carrion.  This  too  was  followed 
by  movement,  only  the  movement  had  no  haste  or  sug- 
gestion of  fear.  It  was  simply  the  heavy  flapping  of 
slow-moving  wings.  Two  enormous  crows  launched 
themselves  upon  the  air  from  the  topmost  branches  of  a 
distant  tree,  and  perched  on  the  crest  of  another  at  the 
trail-side. 


THE  MEETING  ON  THE  TRAIL  241 

They  sat  there  in  solemn,  unmoving  silence,  but  with 
eyes  alert  and  watchful,  and  who  might  tell  the  thought 
passing  through  their  unwholesome  minds  ! 

But  now  a  further  sound  broke  the  stillness — a  sound 
which  perhaps  accounted  for  the  movements  of  the  birds. 
A  soft  patter  grew  out  of  the  distance  like  the  pad  of 
muffled  feet.  But  it  was  faint  and  seemingly  far  off.  The 
sharp  eyes  of  the  feathered  watchers  were  scanning  the 
horizon  from  their  lofty  perches.  The  sound  grew.  And 
as  it  grew  the  waiting  carrion  turned  to  view  both  dis- 
tances of  the  trail.  It  was  evident  that  the  growing  sound 
had  a  double  source. 

The  padding  feet  became  more  distinct.  Yes,  the 
sounds  were  sharper.  The  softness  had  gone,  develop- 
ing into  the  rhythmic  beat  of  hard  hoofs  speeding  from 
either  direction.  Two  horses  were  galloping  down  the 
trail  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  quickly  it  became  evident  that 
their  meeting  must  occur  somewhere  almost  directly  be- 
neath the  watchful  eyes  of  the  waiting  birds. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  hoof-beats.  The  birds 
were  plucking  at  their  feathers  with  an  unconcern  all  too 
apparent.  They  ruffled  their  wings  and  preened  their 
plumage,  a  sure  indication  of  satisfaction.  One  of  the 
galloping  horses  slackened  its  gait.  Perhaps  its  rider  had 
heard  the  approach  of  that  other,  and,  with  the  curious 
instinctive  suspicion  of  the  western  trail,  prepared  to  pass 
him  under  the  best  conditions  for  defensiveness.  Perhaps 
it  was  simply  the  natural  action  of  a  horseman  on  the 
trail. 

But  the  horse  from  the  other  direction  had  slackened 
speed  too.  His  rider,  too,  had  reduced  his  gait  to  a  walk. 

The  birds  overhead  ceased  their  preening  and  looked 


242  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

below  for  the  possible  development  they  seem  to  be  ever 
awaiting.  It  makes  no  difference,  they  follow  the  trail  of 
all  animal  life,  waiting,  waiting,  with  a  patience  inex- 
haustible, for  the  moment  of  stillness  which  tells  them  that 
life  has  passed  and  the  banquet  awaits  them. 

One  of  the  horsemen  came  into  full  view  from  the 
height  above.  The  second  horseman  appeared  round  a 
bend.  Both  men  were  mounted  on  the  lean,  hard-muscled 
horses  of  prairie  breeding.  They  were  spare  of  flesh  and 
uncared  for,  but  their  muscles  were  hard  and  their  legs 
clean.  Between  them  a  bend  in  the  trail  still  intervened, 
but  with  each  moment  they  were  drawing  nearer  to  each 
other. 

Right  under  the  tree  upon  which  the  crows  were 
perched  Pete  drew  rein  and  sat  listening  to  the  shuffling 
gait  of  the  oncoming  horse.  The  man's  lean  face  was 
dark  with  a  brooding  hatred.  His  eyes  were  fiercely 
alight  with  expectancy.  A  revolver  lay  across  his  thigh, 
the  butt  of  it  firmly  grasped  in  a  hand  clutching  it  with 
desperate  purpose. 

The  trail  was  the  trail  to  the  farm.  Ike  had  gone  to 
the  farm.  A  horseman  was  returning  along  that  trail 
from  the  direction  of  the  farm.  Such  was  the  argument 
behind  his  aggressive  action.  It  was  a  simple  argument 
which  in  his  sober  senses  might  have  needed  support  to 
urge  him  to  the  course  he  now  contemplated.  But  he 
was  not  sober  ;  Beasley  had  seen  to  that.  He  was  no 
more  sober  than  was  Ike. 

Ike's  horse  was  moving  slowly — much  slower  than  its 
usual  walking  gait.  The  man  was  craning  forward. 
Who,  he  wondered,  was  riding  toward  the  farm,  and  for 
what  purpose  ?  His  right  hand  was  on  the  butt  of  his 


THE  MEETING  ON  THE  TRAIL  243 

revolver,  but  his  weapon  was  still  in  its  holster,  for  his  ac- 
tion was  purely  precautionary  in  a  country  where,  when 
a  man  has  enemies,  or  has  done  those  things  which  he 
knows  his  fellows  resent,  it  is  advisable  to  look  for  no 
support  outside  his  own  ability  to  defend  himself. 

He  remembered  the  screams  of  Joan,  and  he  knew  how 
the  hills  echoed.  He  wondered,  and  wondering  he  re- 
gretted something  of  what  he  had  done.  But  he  regretted 
it  only  for  possible  consequences  to  himself.  In  reality 
he  reveled  in  the  warm  memory  of  the  feel  of  the  girl's 
soft  cheek. 

His  horse  reached  the  bend.  He  could  no  longer  hear 
the  hoof-beats  of  the  other.  He  drew  up  with  a  sudden, 
nervous  movement,  and  his  gun  left  its  holster.  But  his 
nerves  passed,  and,  with  a  foul  oath,  he  urged  his  horse 
forward.  He  rounded  the  bend  and  came  face  to  face 
with  the  figure  of  Blue  Grass  Pete. 

"  Wher'  you  bin  ?  "  demanded  the  latter  in  a  manner 
that  was  a  deliberate  insult. 

Ike  did  the  only  thing  his  wit  could  prompt.  He 
laughed.  It  was  a  harsh,  mirthless  laugh,  which  was 
equally  an  insult. 

"  Quit  it ! "  roared  Pete  in  a  blind  fury.  "  Wher'  you 
bin,  I  say?" 

Ike  abandoned  his  laugh,  but  his  face  was  furiously 
grinning. 

"  Bin  ?"  he  echoed.  "  I  bin  wher'  you  needn't  to  go — 
wher*  it  ain't  no  use  your  goin',"  he  cried,  his  love  of 
boast  prompting  him.  "  I  bin  to  fix  things  up.  She's 
goin'  to  mar " 

A  shot  rang  out.  Ike's  face  blanched,  but  like  light- 
ning his  pistol  bit  out  its  retort.  Pete  reeled  and  re- 


244  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

covered  himself,  and  again  he  fired.  Ike  leant  forward 
as  though  seeking  support  from  the  horn  of  his  saddle. 
Pete  had  fallen  forward  on  to  his  horse's  neck.  Ike  raised 
his  gun  and  fired  again,  but  there  had  really  been  no  need 
for  the  shot.  Even  as  his  gun  spoke  the  other  man  fell 
to  the  ground  and  rolled  over.  His  dark  face  was  turned 
upward,  so  that  the  waiting  crows  had  a  full  view  of  it. 

After  that  Ike  remained  quite  still.  His  pale  face,  turn- 
ing to  a  greenish  hue  in  contrast  to  his  ginger  hair,  was 
staring  down  at  the  result  of  his  handiwork.  But  his  eyes 
were  almost  unseeing.  He  was  faint  and  weary,  and  in 
great  pain. 

The  moments  passed.  At  last  he  stirred.  But  his 
movement  was  merely  to  clutch  with  feeble  fingers  at  the 
mane  of  his  horse.  Vainly  his  left  hand  clawed  amongst 
the  lank  hair,  while  the  fingers  of  his  right  released  their 
grip  upon  his  pistol  and  let  it  clatter  to  the  ground. 

He  crouched  there  breathing  heavily,  while  a  harsh 
croak  from  above  split  the  air.  Again  he  moved  as 
though  the  sound  had  awakened  him.  He  strove  to  sit 
up,  to  lift  the  reins,  and  to  urge  his  horse  forward.  The 
beast  moved  in  response  to  his  effort.  But  the  movement 
was  all  that  was  needed.  The  man  reeled,  lost  his 
balance,  and  fell  heavily  to  the  ground.  He  too  had 
rolled  on  to  his  back — he  too  was  gazing  up  with  unseeing 
eyes  at  the  dark-hued  carrion  whose  patience  was  inex- 
haustible. 

For  a  moment  all  was  still.  Then  the  horses  moved  as 
by  common  consent.  They  drew  near  to  each  other,  and 
their  noses  met  in  that  inquiring  equine  fashion  which 
suggests  friendly  overtures.  They  stood  thus  for  a  while. 
Then  both  moved  to  the  side  of  the  trail  and  began  to 


THE  MEETING  ON  THE  TRAIL  245 

graze    upon  the   parching  grass  after  the   unconcerned 
manner  of  their  kind. 

The  heavy  flapping  of  wings  told  of  a  fresh  movement 
in  the  trees  above.  Two  great  black  bodies  swung  out 
upon  the  air.  They  circled  round  as  though  assuring 
themselves  that  all  was  as  they  could  wish  it.  Then  they 
settled  again.  But  this  time  it  was  on  the  boughs  of  a  low 
bush  less  than  six  feet  above  the  staring  faces  of  their  in- 
tended victims. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  MAN'S  SUPPORT 

BUCK  looked  up  as  two  crows  flew  low  over  his  head  and 
passed  on  their  way,  croaking  out  their  alarm  and  dis- 
satisfaction. Mechanically  his  eyes  followed  their  move- 
ments. For  he  was  well  versed  in  the  sights,  and  sounds, 
and  habits  of  his  world. 

Presently  he  turned  again  to  the  trail,  and  the  expres- 
sion of  his  eyes  had  changed  to  one  of  speculation.  Caesar 
was  traveling  eagerly.  He  had  not  yet  forgotten  that 
farther  on  along  that  trail  lay  the  old  barn  which  had 
been  his  home  from  his  earliest  recollections. 

Buck  had  had  no  intention  of  making  this  visit  to  the 
farm  when  he  left  Beasley's  saloon.  He  had  not  had  the 
remotest  intention  of  carrying  out  the  man's  broadly-given 
hint.  A  hint  from  Beasley  was  always  unwelcome  to  him, 
and  generally  roused  an  obstinate  desire  to  take  an  op- 
posite course.  Nor  was  it  until  he  reached  the  ford  of  the 
creek  that  the  significance  of  the  man's  tone  penetrated 
his  dislike  of  him.  Quite  abruptly  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  keep  straight  on.  Curiosity,  added  to  a  slight  feeling 
of  uneasiness,  urged  him,  and,  leaving  the  ford  behind 
him,  he  kept  on  down  the  trail. 

His  decision  once  taken,  he  felt  easier  as  he  rode  on. 
Besides,  he  admitted  to  himself  now,  he  was  rather  thank- 
ful to  the  saloon-keeper  for  providing  him  with  something 
in  the  nature  of  an  excuse  for  such  a  visit  He  was  dif- 


A  MAN'S  SUPPORT  247 

ferent  from  those  others,  who,  in  perfect  confidence  and 
ignorance,  required  not  the  least  encouragement  to  perse- 
cute Joan  with  their  attentions.  He  found  it  more  than 
difficult  to  realize  that  his  visits  were  anything  but  irk- 
some to  the  new  owner  of  the  farm  now  that  she  had 
settled  down  with  the  adequate  support  of  her  "  hired  " 
man. 

Joan's  graciousness  to  him  was  the  one  great  delight  of 
his  every  waking  hour.  But  he  dreaded  the  moment 
when  her  manner  might  become  the  mere  tolerance  she 
displayed  toward  Ike  and  Pete,  and  any  of  the  others  who 
chose  to  make  her  farm  a  halting-place.  So  his  visits  had 
become  rarer ;  far  rarer  than  made  for  his  own  peace  of 
mind,  for  Joan  was  always  in  his  thoughts. 

Tramping  the  long  trail  of  the  mountains  her  smiling 
eyes  were  always  somewhere  ahead  of  him,  encouraging 
him,  and  shedding  a  radiance  of  hope  and  delight  upon 
the  dullest  moments  of  his  routine.  Never  for  one  mo- 
ment was  the  delightful  picture  of  her  presence  absent  from 
his  thoughts.  And  to  him  there  was  nothing  in  the  whole 
wide  world  so  fair,  and  sweet,  and  worthy  of  the  worship 
he  so  willingly  cast  at  her  feet. 

His  life  had  always  been  full  in  his  wilderness  of  Nature's 
splendor.  In  his  moments  of  leisure  he  had  been  more 
than  happily  content  in  the  pleasant  friendship  of  the  man 
who  had  sheltered  him  from  childhood.  But  now — now 
as  he  looked  back  over  all  those  years,  the  associations 
seemed  dull  and  empty — empty  of  all  that  made  life  worth 
living.  Not  only  had  he  come  to  realize  the  woman's 
place  in  a  man's  life.  It  was  the  old  story  of  the  fruit  of 
knowledge.  Woman  had  always  been  a  sealed  book  to 
him.  Now,  at  last,  the  cover  had  been  turned  and  the 


248  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

pages  lay  before  him  for  the  reading.  He  yearned  for 
Joan  with  all  the  strength  and  passionate  ardor  of  his 
strong  young  heart.  Nor,  even  in  his  yearning,  had  he 
full  understanding  of  the  real  depths  of  his  feelings. 

How  could  he  study  or  analyze  them  ?  His  love  had 
no  thought  of  the  world  in  it.  It  had  no  thought  of  any- 
thing that  could  bring  it  down  to  the  level  of  concrete  sen- 
sation. He  could  not  have  told  one  feeling  that  was  his. 
With  Joan  at  his  side  he  moved  in  a  mental  paradise 
which  no  language  could  depict.  With  Joan  at  his  side 
he  lived  with  every  nerve  pulsating,  attuned  to  a  perfect 
consciousness  of  joy.  With  Joan  at  his  side  there  was 
nothing  but  light  and  radiance  which  rilled  every  sense 
with  a  happiness  than  which  he  could  conceive  no  greater. 
Alone,  this  great  wide  world  about  him  was  verily  a  wil- 
derness. 

The  man's  feelings  quickly  mastered  his  momentary 
uneasiness  as  his  horse  bore  him  on  toward  his  goal.  The 
forest  path  over  which  he  was  traveling  had  lost  its  hue 
of  gloom  which  the  shadowed  pine  woods  ever  convey. 
There  was  light  everywhere,  that  light  which  comes 
straight  from  the  heart  and  is  capable  of  lending  radiance 
even  to  the  grave-side  itself. 

The  trail  lay  straight  ahead  of  him  for  some  distance. 
Then  it  swerved  in  a  big  sweep  away  to  the  left.  He 
knew  this  bend.  The  farm  lay  something  less  than  half 
a  mile  beyond  it.  As  they  neared  it  Caesar  pricked  his 
ears  and  whinnied.  Buck  leant  forward  and  patted  his 
neck  out  of  the  very  joy  of  anticipation.  It  almost  seemed 
to  him  as  if  the  creature  knew  who  was  waiting  at  the  end 
of  the  journey  and  was  rejoicing  with  him.  For  once  he 
had  misunderstood  the  mood  of  his  horse. 


A  MAN'S  SUPPORT  249 

He  realized  this  in  a  moment.  The  eager  creature  be- 
gan to  move  with  a  less  swinging  stride,  and  his  gait 
quickly  became  something  in  the  nature  of  a  "prop." 
They  were  round  the  bend,  and  the  horse  whinnied  again. 
This  time  it  raised  its  head  and  snorted  nervously.  And 
instantly  Buck  was  alive  to  the  creature's  anxiety.  He 
understood  the  quick  glancing  from  side  to  side,  and  the 
halting  of  that  changing  step  which  is  always  a  sign  of 
fear. 

Ahead  the  trail  completed  the  letter  S  it  had  begun. 
They  were  nearing  the  final  curve  to  the  right.  Buck 
searched  the  distance  for  the  cause  of  Caesar's  apprehension. 
And  all  unconsciously  his  mind  went  back  to  the  winging 
of  the  crows  overhead  and  the  sound  of  their  harsh  voices. 
He  spurred  the  creature  sharply,  and  steadied  him  down. 

They  reached  the  final  bend  and  passed  round  it,  and 
in  a  moment  Buck  had  an  answer  to  the  questions  in  his 
mind.  It  was  a  terrible  spectacle  that  greeted  his  eyes  as 
he  reined  his  horse  in  and  brought  him  to  an  abrupt  halt. 
He  had  reached  the  battle-ground  where  death  had 
claimed  its  toll  of  human  passion.  There,  swiftly,  almost 
silently,  two  men  had  fought  out  their  rivalry  for  a 
woman's  favor — a  favor  given  to  neither. 

It  needed  little  enough  imagination  to  read  the  facts. 
All  the  ingredients  of  the  swift-moving  drama  were  there 
before  his  eyes — the  combatants  stretched  out  in  the  sand 
of  the  trail,  with  staring  eyes  and  dropping  jaws,  gazing 
up  at  the  brilliant  vault  of  the  heavens,  whither,  may  be, 
their  savage  spirits  had  fled  ;  the  woman  crouching  down 
at  the  roadside  with  face  buried  upon  outstretched  arms, 
her  slight  body  heaving  with  hysterical  sobs  ;  the  horses, 
horses  he  knew  well  enough  by  sight,  lost  to  the  tragedy 


250  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

amidst  the  more  succulent  roots  of  the  parching  grass  be- 
neath the  shadow  of  overhanging  trees. 

One  glance  at  the  combatants  told  Buck  all  he  wanted 
to  know.  They  were  dead.  He  had  been  too  long  upon 
the  western  trail  to  doubt  the  signs  he  beheld.  His  duty 
and  inclination  were  with  the  living.  In  a  moment  he 
was  out  of  the  saddle  and  at  Joan's  side,  raising  her  from 
her  position  of  grief  and  misery  in  arms  as  gentle  as  they 
were  strong. 

He  had  no  real  understanding  of  the  necessities  of  the 
moment.  All  he  knew,  all  he  desired,  was  to  afford  the 
girl  that  help  and  protection  he  felt  she  needed.  His  first 
thought  was  to  keep  her  from  a  further  sight  of  what  had 
occurred.  So  he  held  her  in  his  arms,  limp  and  yielding, 
for  one  uncertain  moment.  Then,  for  the  second  time  in 
his  life,  he  bore  her  off  toward  her  home. 

But  now  his  feelings  were  of  a  totally  different  nature. 
There  was  neither  ecstasy  nor  dreaming.  He  was  anxious 
and  beset.  As  he  bore  her  along  he  spoke  to  her,  en- 
couraging her  with  gentle  words  of  sympathy  and  hope. 
But  her  fainting  condition  left  him  no  reward,  and  her 
half-closed  eyes,  filled  with  unshed  tears,  remained  dull 
and  unresponsive. 

No  sound  broke  the  stillness  in  the  parlor  at  the  farm. 
Buck  was  leaning  against  the  small  centre-table  gravely 
watching  the  bowed  head  of  the  silently-weeping  girl, 
who  was  seated  upon  the  rough  settle  which  lined  the 
wall.  Her  slight  figure  was  supported  by  the  pillows 
which  had  been  set  in  place  by  the  ministering  hands  of 
Mrs.  Ransford. 

Buck's  reception  by  the  farm- wife  had  been  very  differ- 


A  MAN'S  SUPPORT  251 

ent  on  this  occasion.  She  had  met  him  with  his  burden 
some  distance  down  the  trail,  whither  she  had  followed  her 
young  mistress,  whose  fleetness  had  left  her  far  behind. 
Her  tongue  had  started  to  clack  at  once,  but  Buck  was  in 
no  mood  to  put  up  with  unnecessary  chatter.  A  peremp- 
tory order  had  had  the  astonishing  effect  of  silencing  her, 
and  a  further  command  had  set  her  bustling  to  help  her 
mistress. 

Once  immediate  needs  had  been  attended  to,  the  man 
told  his  story  briefly,  and  added  his  interpretation  of  the 
scene  he  had  just  witnessed.  He  further  dispatched  the 
old  woman  to  summon  the  hired  man  from  his  ploughing, 
and,  for  once,  found  ready  obedience  where  he  might  well 
have  expected  nothing  but  objection. 

Thus  it  was  the  man  and  girl  were  alone  in  the  parlor. 
Buck  was  waiting  for  Joan's  storm  of  tears  to  pass. 

The  moment  came  at  last,  and  quite  abruptly.  Joan 
stirred  ;  she  flung  her  head  up  and  dashed  the  weak  tears 
from  her  eyes,  struggling  bravely  for  composure.  But 
the  moment  she  spoke  her  words  belied  the  resolution, 
and  showed  her  still  in  the  toils  of  an  overwhelming 
despair. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  she  cried  piteously.  "  What  am  I 
to  do  ?  I  can  see  nothing — nothing  but  disaster  in  every 
direction.  It  is  all  a  part  of  my  life  ;  a  part  of  me.  I 
cannot  escape  it.  I  have  tried  to,  but — I  cannot.  Oh, 
I  feel  so  helpless — so  helpless  1 " 

Buck's  eyes  shone  with  love  and  pity.  He  was  stirred 
to  the  depths  of  his  manhood  by  her  appeal.  Here  again 
was  that  shadow  she  had  spoken  of  before,  that  he  had 
become  familiar  with.  He  tried  to  tell  himself  that  she 
was  simply  unnerved,  but  he  knew  her  trouble  was  more 


252  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

than  that.  All  his  love  drove  him  to  a  longing  for  a 
means  of  comforting  her. 

"Forget  the  things  you  seen,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 
And  he  felt  that  his  words  were  bald — even  stupid. 

The  girl's  troubled  eyes  were  looking  up  into  his  in  a 
desperate  hope.  It  was  almost  as  if  this  man  were  her 
only  support,  and  she  were  making  one  final  appeal  before 
abandoning  altogether  her  saving  hold. 

"Forget  them?  Oh,  Buck,  Buck,  you  don't  know 
what  you  are  saying.  You  don't  understand — you  can't, 
or  you  would  not  speak  like  that.  You  see,"  she  went 
on,  forgetting  in  her  trouble  that  this  man  did  not  know 
her  story,  "  Ike  was  here.  Here  !  He  made — love  to 
me.  He — he  kissed  me.  He  brutally  kissed  me  when  I 
had  no  power  to  resist  him.  And  now — now  this  has 
happened." 

But  the  man  before  her  had  suddenly  changed  while 
she  was  speaking.  The  softness  had  left  his  eyes.  They 
had  suddenly  become  hot,  and  bloodshot,  and  hard.  His 
breath  came  quickly,  heavily,  his  thin  nostrils  dilating 
with  the  furious  emotion  that  swept  through  his  body. 
Ike  had  kissed  her.  He  had  forgotten  all  her  sufferings 
in  his  own  sudden,  jealous  fury. 

Joan  waited.  The  change  in  the  man  had  passed  un- 
observed by  her.  Then,  as  no  answer  was  forthcoming, 
she  went  on  — 

"  Wherever  I  go  it  is  the  same.  Death  and  disaster. 
Oh,  it  is  awful !  Sometimes  I  think  I  shall  go  mad.  Is 
there  no  corner  of  the  earth  where  I  can  hide  myself  from 
the  shadow  of  this  haunting  curse  ?  " 

"  Ike  kissed  you  ?  " 

Buck's   voice  grated    harshly.     Somehow  her   appeal 


A  MAN'S  SUPPORT  253 

had  passed  him  by.  All  his  better  thoughts  and  feelings 
were  overshadowed  for  the  moment.  A  fierce  madness 
was  sweeping  through  his  veins,  his  heart,  his  brain,  a 
madness  of  feeling  such  as  he  had  never  before  ex- 
perienced. 

The  girl  answered  him,  still  without  recognizing  the 
change. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  dull,  hopeless  way.  "  And  the 
inevitable  happened.  It  followed  swiftly,  surely,  as  it 
always  seems  to  follow.  He  is  dead." 

"  He  got  it — as  he  should  get  it.  He  got  no  more  than 
he'd  have  got  if  I'd  been  around." 

Buck's  mood  could  no  longer  escape  her.  She  looked 
into  the  hard,  young  face,  startled.  She  saw  the  fury  in 
his  eyes,  the  clenched  jaws,  with  their  muscles  outstand- 
ing with  the  force  of  the  fury  stirring  him. 

The  sight  agitated  her,  but  somehow  it  did  not 
frighten.  She  half  understood.  At  least  she  thought 
she  did.  She  read  his  resentment  as  that  of  a  man  who 
sees  in  the  outrage  a  breaking  of  all  the  laws  of  chivalry. 
She  missed  the  real  note  underlying  it. 

"  What  does  his  act  matter  ?  "  she  said  almost  indiffer- 
ently, her  mind  on  what  she  regarded  as  the  real  tragedy. 
"  He  was  drunk.  He  was  not  responsible.  No,  no.  It 
is  not  that  which  matters.  It  was  the  other.  He  left  me 
— to  go  to  his  death.  Had  Pete  not  been  waiting  for 
him  it  would  have  been  just  the  same.  Disaster ! 
Death  !  Oh  !  can  you  not  see?  It  is  the  disaster  which 
always  follows  me." 

Her  protest  was  not  without  its  effect.  So  insistent 
was  she  on  the  resulting  tragedy  that  Buck  found  him- 
self endeavoring  to  follow  her  thought  in  spite  of  his  own 


254  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

feelings.  She  was  associating  this  tragedy  with  herself — 
as  part  of  her  life,  her  fate. 

But  it  was  some  moments  before  the  man  was  sufficiently 
master  of  himself — before  he  could  detach  his  thought 
altogether  from  the  human  feelings  stirring  him.  The 
words  sang  on  his  ear-drums.  "  He — he  kissed  me." 
They  were  flaming  through  his  brain.  They  blurred 
every  other  thought,  and,  for  a  time,  left  him  incapable 
of  lending  her  that  support  he  would  so  willingly  give 
her.  Finally,  however,  his  better  nature  had  its  way. 
He  choked  down  his  jealous  fury,  and  strove  to  find 
means  of  comforting  her. 

"  It's  all  wrong,"  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  force  which 
claimed  the  girl's  attention,  and,  for  the  time  at  least, 
held  her  troubled  thought  suspended.  "  How  can  this  be 
your  doing?  Why  for  should  it  be  a  curse  on  you  be- 
cause two  fellers  shoot  each  other  up  ?  They  hated  each 
other  because  of  you.  Wai — that's  natural.  It's  dead 
human.  It's  been  done  before,  an'  I'm  sure  guessin'  it'll 
be  done  again.  It's  not  you,  It's — it's  nature — human 
nature.  Say,  Miss  Joan,  you  ain't  got  the  lessons  of  these 
hills  right  yet.  Folks  out  here  are  different  to  city  folks. 
That  is,  their  ways  of  doin'  the  same  things  are  different. 
We  feel  the  same — that's  because  we're  made  the  same — 
but  we  act  diff'rent.  If  I'd  bin  around,  I'd  have  shot  Ike 
— with  a  whole  heap  of  pleasure.  An'  if  I  had,  wher's 
the  cuss  on  you  ?  Kissin'  a  gal  like  that  can't  be  done 
around  here." 

"  But  Pete  was  not  here.     He  didn't  know." 

Joan  was  quick  to  grasp  the  weakness  of  his  argument. 

"  It  don't  matter  a  cent,"  cried  Buck,  his  teeth  clipping 
his  words.  "  He  needed  his  med'cine^an'  got  it." 


A  MAN'S  SUPPORT  255 

Joan  sighed  hopelessly. 

"  You  don't  understand,  and — and  I  can't  tell  it  you 
all.  Sometimes  I  feel  I  could  kill  myself.  How  can  I 
help  realizing  the  truth  ?  It  is  forced  on  me.  I  am  a 
leper,  a — a  pariah." 

The  girl  leant  back  on  her  cushions,  and  her  whole 
despairing  attitude  became  an  appeal  to  his  manhood. 
The  last  vestige  of  Buck's  jealousy  passed  from  him. 
He  longed  to  tell  her  all  there  was  in  his  heart.  He 
longed  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her,  and  pro- 
tect her  from  every  shadow  the  whole  wide  world  held 
for  her.  He  longed  to  tell  her  of  the  love  that  was  his, 
and  how  no  power  on  earth  could  change  it.  But  he  did 
none  of  these  things. 

"  The  things  you're  callin'  yourself  don't  sound  whole- 
some," he  said  simply.  "I  can't  see  they  fit  in  anyway. 
Guess  they  ain't  natural." 

Joan  caught  at  the  word. 

"  Natural ! "  she  cried.  "  Is  any  of  it  natural  ?  "  She 
laughed  hysterically. 

Buck  nodded. 

"  It's  all  natural,"  he  said.  "  You've  hit  it.  You  don't 
need  my  word.  Jest  you  ask  the  Padre.  He'll  give  it 
you  all.  He'll  tell  you  jest  how  notions  can  make  a  cuss 
of  any  life,  an'  how  to  get  shut  of  sech  notions.  He's 
taught  me,  an'  he'll  teach  you.  I  can't  jest  pass  his 
words  on.  They  don't  git  the  same  meaning  when  I  say 
'em.  I  ain't  wise  to  that  sort  of  thing.  But  ther's  things 
I  am  wise  to,  and  they're  the  things  he's  taught  me. 
You're  feeling  mean,  mean  an'  miser'ble,  that  makes  me 
ter'ble  mean  to  see.  Say,  Miss  Joan,  I  ain't  much  handin' 
advice.  I  ain't  got  brain  enough  to  hand  that  sort  of 


256  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

thing  around,  but  I'd  sure  ask  you  to  say  right  here  ther' 
ain't  no  cuss  on  your  life,  an'  never  was.  You  jest  guess 
there's  a  cuss  around  chasm'  glory  at  your  expense. 
Wai,  git  right  up,  an'  grit  your  teeth  an'  fight  good. 
Don't  sit  around  feeling  mean.  If  you'd  do  that,  I  tell 
you  that  cuss'll  hit  the  trail  so  quick  you  won't  git  time 
to  see  it,  an'  you'll  bust  yourself  laffin'  to  think  you  ever 
tho't  it  was  around  your  layout.  An'  before  I  done 
talkin'  I'll  ast  you  to  remember  that  when  menfolks  git 
around  insultin'  a  helpless  gal,  cuss  or  no  cuss,  he's  goin' 
to  git  his  med'cine  good — an'  from  me." 

Buck's  effort  had  its  reward.  The  smile  that  had 
gradually  found  its  way  into  his  own  eyes  caught  some- 
thing of  a  reflection  in  those  of  the  girl.  He  had  dragged 
her  from  the  depths  of  her  despair  by  the  force  of  the 
frank  courage  that  was  his.  He  had  lifted  her  by  the 
sheer  strength  and  human  honesty  which  lay  at  the 
foundation  of  his  whole,  simple  nature.  Joan  sighed, 
and  it  was  an  acknowledgment  of  his  success. 

"  Thank  you,  Buck,"  she  said  gently.  "  You  are  al- 
ways so  good  to  me.  You  have  been  so  ever  since  I 
came.  And  goodness  knows  you  have  little  enough  rea- 
son for  it,  seeing  it  is  I  who  have  turned  you  out  of  this 
home  of  yours " 

"  We  got  your  money,"  interrupted  Buck,  almost 
brusquely.  "  This  farm  was  the  Padre's.  You  never 
turned  me  out.  An'  say,  the  Padre  don't  live  a  big  ways 
from  here.  Maybe  you'd  like  him  to  tell  you  about 
cusses  an'  things."  His  eyes  twinkled.  "  He's  sure 
great  on  cusses." 

But  Joan  did  not  respond  to  the  lightness  of  his  manner, 
and  Buck  realized  that  her  trouble  was  still  strong  upon  her. 


A  MAN'S  SUPPORT  257 

He  waited  anxiously,  watching  for  the  signs  of  her 
acceptance  of  his  invitation.  But  they  were  not  forth- 
coming. The  deep  violet  of  her  eyes  seemed  to  grow 
deeper  with  a  weight  of  thought,  and  gradually  the 
man's  hopes  sank.  He  had  wanted  her  to  see  his  friend, 
he  had  wanted  his  friend  to  see  her.  But  more  than  all 
he  had  wanted  to  welcome  her  to  his  own  home.  Nor 
was  the  reason  of  his  desire  clear  even  to  himself. 

At  last  she  rose  from  her  seat  and  crossed  over  to  the 
window,  just  as  the  sound  of  voices  heralded  the  return 
of  Mrs.  Ransford  and  the  hired  man.  It  was  at  that  mo- 
ment she  turned  to  him,  speaking  over  her  shoulder. 

"  They've  got  back,"  she  said.  "  What  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"  Send  those — others — on  into  camp." 

"  Yes."     Joan  shivered. 

Then  she  came  back  to  him,  and  stood  with  one  hand 
resting  on  the  table. 

"  I — I  think  I  should  like  to  see  the  Padre.  Will  you 
take  me  to  him  one  day  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  BRIDGING  OF  YEARS 

IT  was  nearly  a  week  later  that  Joan  paid  her  visit  to 
the  fur  fort. 

The  Padre  moved  about  the  room  a  little  uncertainly 
Its  plainness  troubled  him,  but  its  cleanliness  was  un- 
questionable. Both  he  and  Buck  had  spent  over  two 
hours,  earlier  in  the  day,  setting  the  place  to  rights  and 
preparing  for  their  visitor. 

He  shook  his  head  as  he  viewed  the  primitive  condition 
of  the  furniture.  It  was  all  very,  very  home-made. 
There  was  not  one  seat  he  felt  to  be  suitable  to  offer  to  a 
lady.  He  was  very  dissatisfied.  Dissatisfied  with  it  all, 
and  particularly  with  Buck  for  bringing  Joan  to  this 
wretched  mountain  abode.  It  would  have  been  far  better 
had  he  called  at  the  farm.  It  even  occurred  to  him  now 
as  curious  that  he  had  never  done  so  before. 

Yet  perhaps  it  was  not  so  curious  after  all.  He  had 
been  attached  to  the  home  which  had  sheltered  him  all 
those  years,  the  home  his  own  two  hands  had  built.  Yes, 
it  was  different  making  a  place,  building  it,  driving  every 
nail  oneself,  setting  up  every  fence  post,  turning  every 
clod  of  soil.  It  was  different  to  purchasing  it,  ready- 
made,  or  hiring  labor.  He  had  no  desire  to  go  near  the 
farm  again.  That,  like  other  things,  had  passed  out  of  his 
life  forever. 

Three  times  he  rearranged  the  room  in  the  vain  hope 


THE  BRIDGING  OF  YEARS  259 

of  giving  it  an  added  appearance  of  comfort,  but  the  task 
was  hopeless.  Finally,  he  sat  down  and  lit  his  pipe,  smil- 
ing at  his  almost  childish  desire  that  his  home  should  find 
favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  girl  Buck  was  bringing  to  see 
him. 

Buck  had  told  him  very  little.  He  had  spoken  of  the 
visit,  and  hinted  at  Joan's  desire  for  advice.  He  had 
been  very  vague.  But  then  that  was  Buck's  way  in  some 
things.  It  was  not  often  that  he  had  need  to  go  into 
reasons  in  his  intercourse  with  his  friend.  Such  a  perfect 
understanding  had  always  existed  between  them  that  they 
were  rarely  discoursive.  He  had  told  the  Padre  of  the 
shooting,  and  explained  the  apparent  cause.  He  had 
also  told  him  of  the  reception  of  the  news  in  the  camp, 
and  how  a  small  section  of  the  older  inhabitants  had 
adopted  an  attitude  of  resentment  against  the  innocent 
cause  of  it.  He  had  shown  him  that  there  was  plainly  no 
sympathy,  or  very  little,  for  Joan  when  the  story  was  told. 
And  to  the  elder  man  this  was  disquieting.  Buck  had 
treated  it  with  the  contempt  of  youth,  but  the  Padre  had 
detected  in  it  a  food  for  graver  thought  than  he  let  the  boy 
understand. 

It  would  be  time  enough  to  break  up  Buck's  confidence 
should  any  trouble  develop.  In  the  meantime  he  had 
understood  that  there  was  something  like  real  necessity 
for  him  to  see  this  girl.  If  she  needed  any  help  then  it 
was  plainly  his  duty  to  give  it  her.  And,  besides,  there 
was  another  reason.  Buck  desired  this  interview. 

He  smiled  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  the  turn  events 
had  taken  with  Buck.  He  must  have  been  blind  indeed 
if  he  had  not  seen  from  the  very  first  the  way  things  were 
going.  The  boy  had  fallen  hopelessly  in  love  with  the 


26o  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

first  girl  with  whom  he  had  definitely  been  brought  into 
contact.  And  why  not  ?  Yes,  he  was  rather  anxious  to 
see  and  talk  with  this  girl  who  had  set  the  boy's  heart  on 
fire. 

Yet  it  seemed  strange.  Buck  had  never  been  anything 
but  a  boy  to  him.  He  had  never  really  grown  up.  He 
was  still  the  small,  pathetic  figure  he  had  first  encountered 
on  the  trail-side.  And  now  here  he  was  hopelessly,  madly 
in  love  with  a  girl.  He  would  never  forget  the  fire  of 
jealousy  that  had  lain  behind  his  words  when  Buck  had 
told  him  that  Ike  had  forcibly  kissed  her. 

His  thought  lost  its  more  sympathetic  note,  and  he 
became  grave.  Love  had  come  into  this  youngster's  life, 
and  he  wondered  in  what  direction  it  would  influence  it 
He  knew  well  enough,  no  one  better,  how  much  damage 
love  could  do.  He  knew  well  enough  the  other,  and  right 
side  of  the  picture.  But  Buck  was  an  unusual  experi- 
ment. Even  to  him,  who  knew  the  boy  so  well,  he  was 
still  something  of  a  problem  in  many  ways.  One  thing 
was  certain.  He  would  get  the  trouble  badly,  and  time 
alone  could  show  what  ravages  and  complications  might 
be  forthcoming. 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  knocked  out  his  pipe. 
Then,  in  smiling  dismay,  he  sniffed  the  air.  He  had 
done  the  very  thing  he  had  meant  to  avoid.  He  shook 
his  white  head,  and  opened  wide  both  the  window  and  the 
door  in  the  hope  that  the  fresh  mountain  air  would  sweeten 
the  atmosphere  before  the  girl's  arrival. 

But  his  hopes  were  quickly  dashed.  As  he  took  up 
his  position  in  the  doorway,  prepared  to  extend  her  the 
heartiest  greeting,  he  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the 
trail,  and  the  man  and  the  girl  rode  into  the  stockade. 


THE  BRIDGING  OF  YEARS  261 

Buck  had  departed  to  perform  his  usual  evening  tasks. 
He  had  gone  to  water  and  feed  the  horses,  to  "buck" 
cord-wood  for  the  stove,  and  to  draw  the  water  for  their 
household  purposes.  He  was  full  early  with  his  work,  but 
he  was  anxious  that  the  Padre  and  Joan  should  remain 
undisturbed.  Such  was  his  faith  in  the  Padre  that  he  felt 
that  on  this  visit  depended  much  of  the  girl's  future  peace 
of  mind. 

Now  the  white-haired  man  and  the  girl  were  alone — 
alone  with  the  ruddy  westering  sun  pouring  in  through 
window  and  door,  in  an  almost  horizontal  shaft  of  gracious 
light.  Joan  was  sitting  bending  over  the  cook-stove,  her 
feet  resting  on  the  rack  at  the  foot  of  the  oven,  her  hands 
outstretched  to  the  warming  glow  of  the  fire.  The  even- 
ings in  the  hills,  even  in  the  height  of  summer,  were 
never  without  a  nip  of  cold  which  drifted  down  from  the 
dour,  ages-old  glaciers  crowning  the  distant  peaks.  She 
was  talking,  gazing  into  the  glowing  coals.  She  was 
piecing  out  her  story  as  it  had  been  told  her  by  her  Aunt 
Mercy,  feeling  that  only  with  a  full  knowledge  of  it  could 
this  wise  old  white-haired  friend  of  Buck's  understand  and 
help  her. 

The  Padre  was  sitting  close  under  the  window.  His 
back  was  turned  to  it,  so  that  his  face  was  almost  lost  in 
the  shadow.  And  it  was  as  well.  As  the  story  proceeded, 
as  incident  after  incident  was  unfolded,  the  man's  face 
became  gray  with  unspeakable  emotion,  and  from  robust 
middle  age  he  jumped  to  an  old,  old  man. 

But  Joan  saw  none  of  this.  Never  once  did  she  turn 
her  eyes  in  his  direction.  She  was  lost  in  painful  recol- 
lections of  the  hideous  things  with  which  she  seemed  to 
be  surrounded.  She  told  him  of  her  birth,  those  strange 


262  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

circumstances  which  her  aunt  had  told  her  of,  and  which 
now,  in  her  own  cold  words,  sounded  so  like  a  fairy  tale. 
She  told  him  of  her  father  and  her  father's  friend,  the  man 
who  had  always  been  his  evil  genius.  She  told  him  of 
her  fathers  sudden  good  fortune,  and  of  the  swift-follow- 
ing disaster.  She  told  him  of  his  dreadful  death  at  the 
hands  of  his  friend.  Then  she  went  on,  mechanically  re- 
citing the  extraordinary  events  which  had  occurred  to  her 
— how,  in  each  case  where  men  sought  her  regard  and 
love,  disaster  had  followed  hard  upon  their  heels  ;  how  she 
had  finally  fled  before  the  disaster  which  dogged  her ; 
how  she  had  come  here,  here  where  she  thought  she 
might  be  free  from  associations  so  painful,  only  to  find 
that  escape  was  impossible. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  what  has  happened  since  I  came," 
she  finished  up  dully.  "  You  know  it  all.  They  say  I 
brought  them  their  luck.  Luck  ?  Was  there  ever  such 
luck  ?  First  my  coming  cost  a  man's  Hie,  and  now — now 
Ike  and  Pete.  What  is  to  follow  ?  " 

The  Padre  had  not  once  interrupted  her  in  her  long 
story,  and,  even  now,  as  the  last  sound  of  her  voice  died 
out,  it  was  some  moments  before  he  spoke. 

The  fire  in  the  grate  rustled  and  the  cinders  shook  down. 

It  was  then  that  the  girl  stirred  as  though  suddenly 
made  aware  of  the  silence.  Immediately  the  man's  voice, 
cold — almost  harsh,  in  contrast  to  his  usual  tone,  startled 
her. 

" '  Rest '  is  not  your  name,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
changed  your  name — to  further  aid  your  escape  from " 

'*  How  do  you  know  that?"  Then  the  girl  went  on, 
wondering  at  the  man's  quickness  of  understanding.  "  I 
had  not  intended  telling  you.  But  it  doesn't  matter. 


THE  BRIDGING  OF  YEARS  263 

Nothing  seems  to  matter.  Evidently  my  disguise  is  use- 
less with  you.  No,  my  name  is  not  Rest.  My  father 
was  Charles  Stanmore." 

The  man  made  no  reply.  He  did  not  move.  His 
keen  eyes  were  on  the  red-gold  hair  so  neatly  coiled 
about  the  girl's  head.  His  lips  were  compressed,  and  a 
deep  frown  had  disturbed  the  usual  serenity  of  his  broad 
brow. 

For  a  moment  Joan  bowed  her  head,  and  her  hands 
clasped  tightly  as  they  were  held  toward  the  fire.  Pres- 
ently her  voice  sounded  again.  It  began  low,  held  under 
a  forced  calm. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?  "  she  implored  him.  "  Buck  said 
you  could  help  me.  What  have  I  done  that  these  things 
should  curse  my  life  ?  I  only  want  peace — just  a  little 
peace.  I  am  content  to  live  and  die  just  as  I  am.  I  de- 
sire nothing  more  than  to  be  left — alone." 

"  Who  told  you— all  this  ?  "  The  Padre's  voice  had  no 
sympathy. 

"  My  aunt,     Aunt  Mercy." 

"  You  were — happy  before  she  told  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Why  did  she  tell  you?" 

"  I  don't  know.  At  least — yes,  she  told  me  so  as  to 
warn  me.  So  that  I  might  avoid  bringing  disaster  upon 
those  whom  I  had  no  desire  to  hurt." 

The  Padre  rose  from  his  seat  and  crossed  to  where  the 
girl  was  sitting.  He  stood  for  a  moment  just  behind  her 
chair.  Then,  very  gently,  he  laid  one  sunburnt  hand 
upon  her  shoulder. 

"  Little  girl,"  he  said,  with  a  wonderful  kindliness  that 
started  the  long-threatened  tears  to  the  girl's  eyes,  "  you've 


264  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

got  a  peck  of  trouble  inside  that  golden  head  of  yours. 
But  it's  all  in  there.  There's  none  of  it  outside.  Look 
back  over  all  those  things  you've  told  me.  Every  one  of 
them.  Just  show  me  where  your  hand  in  them  lies. 
There  is  not  a  disaster  that  you  have  mentioned  but 
what  possesses  its  perfectly  logical,  natural  cause.  There 
is  not  one  that  has  not  been  duplicated,  triplicated,  ah  1 
dozens  and  dozens  of  times  since  this  quaint  old  world  of 
ours  began.  You  believe  it  is  due  to  your  influence 
because  a  silly  old  woman  catches  you  in  an  over- 
wrought moment  and  tells  you  so.  She  has  implanted  a 
parasite  in  your  little  head  that  has  stuck  there  and 
grown  out  of  all  proportion.  Believe  me,  child,  you 
cannot  influence  the  destinies  of  men.  You  have  no  say 
in  the  matter.  As  we  are  made,  so  we  must  work  out 
our  own  salvation.  It  has  been  your  lot  to  witness 
many  disasters,  but  had  these  things  occurred  with  other 
girls  as  the  central  figure,  would  you  have  attributed 
this  hideous  curse  to  their  lives?  Would  you?  Never. 
But  you  readily  attribute  it  to  your  own.  I  am  an  old 
man^  my  dear;  older  to-day,  perhaps,  by  far  than  my 
years  call  for.  I  have  seen  so  much  of  misery  and 
trouble  that  sometimes  I  have  thought  that  all  life  is  just 
one  long  sea  of  disaster.  But  it  isn't — unless  we  choose 
to  make  it  so.  You  are  rapidly  making  yours  such. 
You  are  naturally  generous,  and  kind,  and  sympathetic. 
These  things  you  have  allowed  to  develop  in  you  until 
they  have  become  something  approaching  disease.  Vam- 
pires sucking  out  all  your  nervous  strength.  Abandon 
these  things  for  a  while.  Live  the  life  the  good  God 
gave  you.  Enjoy  your  living  moments  as  you  were 
intended  to  enjoy  them.  And  be  thankful  that  the 


THE  BRIDGING  OF  YEARS  265 

sun  rises  each  morning,  and  that  you  can  rise  up  from 
your  bed  refreshed  and  ready  for  the  full  play  of  heart,  and 
mind,  and  limbs.  Disasters  will  go  on  about  you  as  they 
go  on  about  me,  and  about  us  all.  But  they  do  not 
belong  to  us.  That  is  just  life.  That  is  just  the  world 
and  its  scheme.  There  are  lessons  in  all  these  things  for 
us  to  learn — lessons  for  the  purification  of  our  hearts, 
and  not  diseases  for  our  silly,  weak  brains.  Now,  little 
girl,  I  want  you  to  promise  that  you  will  endeavor  to  do 
as  I  say.  Live  a  wholesome,  healthy  life.  Enjoy  ah 
that  ij  is  given  you  to  enjoy.  Where  good  can  be  done, 
do  it.  Where  evil  lies,  shun  it.  Forget  all  this  that  lies 
befefnd  you,  and — Live !  Evil  is  merely  the  absence  of 
Good.  Life  is  all  Good.  If  we  deny  that  good,  then 
there  is  Evil.  Live  your  life  with  all  its  blessings,  and 
your  God  will  bless  you.  This  is  your  duty  to  your 
self ;  to  your  fellows ;  to  life  ;  to  your  God." 

Joan  had  risen  from  her  seat  Her  face  was  alight 
with  a  hope  that  had  not  been  there  for  many  days. 
The  man's  words  had  taken  hold  of  her.  Her  troubled 
mind  could  not  withstand  them.  He  had  inspired  her 
with  a  feeling  of  security  she  had  not  known  for  weeks. 
Her  tears  were  no  longer  tears  of  despair.  They  were 
tears  of  thankfulness  and  hope.  But  when  she  spoke 
her  words  seemed  utterly  bald  and  meaningless  to 
express  the  wave  of  gratitude  that  flooded  her  heart. 

"I  will ;  I  will,"  she  cried  with  glistening  eyes.  "Oh, 
Padre  !  "  she  went  on,  with  happy  impulse,  "  you  don't 
know  what  you've  done  for  me — you  don't  know " 

"  Then,  child,  do  something  for  me."  The  man  was 
smiling  gravely  down  into  the  bright,  upturned  face. 
"  You  must  not  live  alone  down  there  at  the  farm.  It 


266  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

is  not  good  in  a  child  so  young  as  you.  Get  some 
relative  to  come  and  share  your  home  with  you." 

"  But  I  have  no  one — except  my  Aunt  Mercy." 

"Ah!" 

"  You  see  she  is  my  only  relative.  But — but  I  think 
she  would  come  if  I  asked  her." 

"  Then  ask  her  " 

The  Padre  was  sitting  in  the  chair  that  Joan  had  occu- 
pied. He  too  was  bending  over  the  stove  with  his 
hands  outstretched  to  the  warming  blaze.  Perhaps  he 
too  was  feeling  the  nip  of  the  mountain  air.  Feeling  it 
more  than  usual  to-night.  Buck  was  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  the  table  close  by.  He  had  just  returned  from  taking 
Joan  back  to  the  farm 

The  young  man's  journey  home  had  been  made  in  a 
condition  of  mental  exhilaration  which  left  him  quite 
unconscious  of  all  time  and  distance.  The  change  wrought 
in  Joan  had  been  magical,  and  Caesar,  for  once  in  his  life, 
felt  the  sharp  spur  of  impatience  in  the  man's  eager 
desire  to  reach  his  friend  and  speak  something  of  the 
gratitude  he  felt. 

But  habit  was  strong  upon  Buck,  and  his  gratitude 
found  no  outlet  in  words  when  the  moment  came.  Far 
from  it.  On  his  arrival  he  found  the  Padre  sitting  at 
their  fireside  without  even  the  most  ordinary  welcome  on 
his  lips.  A  matter  so  unusual  that  it  found  Buck  dumb, 
waiting  for  the  lead  to  come,  as  he  knew  it  inevitably 
would,  in  the  Padre's  own  good  time. 

It  took  longer  than  he  expected,  however,  and  it  was 
not  until  he  had  prepared  their  frugal  supper  that  the 
elder  man  stirred  from  his  moody  contemplation  of  the  fire. 


THE  BRIDGING  OF  YEARS  267 

He  looked  up,  and  a  smile  struggled  painfully  into  his 
eyes. 

"Hungry,  Buck?"  he  inquired. 

"So!" 

"  Ah !  then  sit  right  down  here,  boy,  an'  light  your 
pipe.  There's  things  I  want  to  say — first." 

"  Get  right  ahead."  Buck  drew  up  a  chair,  and  obedi- 
ently filled  and  lit  his  pipe. 

"  Life's  pretty  twisted,"  the  Padre  began,  his  steady 
gray  eyes  smiling  contemplatively.  "  So  twisted,  it 
makes  you  wonder  some.  That  girl's  happier  now, 
because  I  told  her  there  were  no  such  things  as  cusses. 
Yes,  it's  all  queer." 

He  reached  out  and  helped  himself  from  Buck's  tobacco 
pouch.  Then  he,  too,  filled  and  lit  his  pipe. 

"  You've  never  asked  me  why  I  live  out  here,"  he  went 
on  presently.  "  Never  since  I've  known  you.  Once  or 
twice  I've  seen  the  question  in  your  eyes,  but — it  never 
stayed  there  long.  You  don't  ask  many  questions,  do 
you,  Buck?" 

The  Padre  puffed  slowly  at  his  pipe.  His  manner  was 
that  of  a  man  looking  back  upon  matters  which  had  sud- 
denly acquired  an  added  interest  for  him.  Yet  the  talk 
he  desired  to  have  with  this  youngster  inspired  an  ill- 
flavor. 

"  If  folks  want  to  answer  questions  ther'  ain't  no  need 
to  ask  'em."  Buck's  philosophy  interested  the  other,  and 
he  nodded. 

"Just  so.  That's  how  it  is  with  me — now.  I  want  to 
tell  you — what  you've  never  asked.  You'll  see  the  reason 
presently." 

Buck  waited.     His   whole  manner  suggested  indiffer- 


268  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

ence.  Yet  there  was  a  thoughtful  look  in  his  dark 
eyes. 

"  That  girl,"  the  Padre  went  on,  his  gaze  returning  to 
a  contemplation  of  the  fire.  "She's  put  me  in  mind  of 
something.  She's  reminded  me  how  full  of  twists  and 
cranks  life  is.  She's  full  of  good.  Full  of  good  thoughts 
and  ideals.  Yet  life  seems  to  take  a  delight  in  impress- 
ing her  with  a  burden  so  unwholesome  as  to  come  very 
nearly  undoing  all  the  good  it  has  endowed  her  with. 
It  seems  queer.  It  seems  devilish  hard.  But  I  generally 
notice  the  harder  folk  try  in  this  world  the  heavier  the 
cross  they  have  to  carry.  Maybe  it's  the  law  of  fitness. 
Maybe  folks  must  bear  a  burden  at  their  full  capacity  so 
that  the  result  may  be  a  greater  refining.  I've  thought 
a  lot  lately.  Sometimes  I've  thought  it's  better  to  sit 
around  and — well,  don't  worry  writh  anything  outside 
three  meals  a  day.  That's  been  in  weak  moments.  You 
see,  we  can't  help  our  natures.  If  it's  in  us  to  do  the 
best  we  know — well,  we're  just  going  to  do  it,  and — and 
hang  the  result." 

"  H'm."     Buck  grunted  and  waited. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  things  around  here,"  the  other 
went  on.  "  I  was  wondering  about  the  camp.  It's  a 
stinking  hole  now.  It's  full  of  everything — rotten.  Yet 
they  think  it's  one  huge  success,  and  they  reckon  we 
helped  them  to  it." 

"How?" 

"  Why,  by  feeding  them  when  they  were  starving,  and 
so  making  it  possible  for  them  to  hang  on  until  Nature 
opened  her  treasure-house," 

Buck  nodded. 

"  I  see." 


THE  BRIDGING  OF  YEARS  269 

"  All  I  see  is — perhaps  through  our  efforts — we've 
turned  loose  a  hell  of  drunkenness  and  debauchery  upon 
earth.  These  people — perhaps  through  our  efforts — have 
been  driven  along  the  very  path  we  would  rather  have 
saved  them  from.  The  majority  will  end  in  disaster. 
Some  have  already  done  so.  But  for  our  help  this  would 
not  have  been." 

"  They'd  jest  have  starved." 

"  We  should  not  have  sold  our  farm,  and  Ike  and  Pete 
would  have  been  alive  now." 

"  In  Ike's  case  it  would  have  been  a  pity." 

The  Padre  smiled.  He  took  Buck's  protest  for  what  it 
was  worth. 

"  Yes,  life's  pretty  twisted.  It's  always  been  the  same 
with  me.  Wherever  I've  got  busy  trying  to  help  those  I 
had  regard  for  I  generally  managed  to  find  my  efforts 
working  out  with  a  result  I  never  reckoned  on.  That's 
why  I  am  here." 

The  Padre  smoked  on  for  some  moments  in  silence. 

"  I  was  hot-headed  once,"  he  went  on  presently.  "  I 
was  so  hot-headed  that  I — I  insulted  the  woman  I  loved. 
I  insulted  her  beyond  forgiveness.  You  see,  she  didn't 
love  me.  She  loved  my  greatest  friend.  Still,  that's  an- 
other story.  It's  the  friend  I  want  to  talk  about.  He  was 
a  splendid  fellow.  A  bright,  impetuous  gambler  on  the 
New  York  Stock  Exchange.  We  were  both  on  Wall 
Street.  I  was  a  gambler  too.  I  was  a  lucky  gambler, 
and  he  was  an  unlucky  one.  In  spite  of  my  love  for  the 
woman,  who  loved  him,  it  was  my  one  great  desire  to  help 
him.  My  luck  was  such  that  I  believed  I  could  do  it — my 
luck  and  my  conceit.  You  see,  next  to  the  woman  I  loved 
he  was  everything  in  the  world  to  me.  Do  you  get  that  ?  " 


2;o  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Buck  nodded. 

"  Well,  in  spite  of  all  I  could  and  did  do;  after  a  nice 
run  of  luck  which  made  me  think  his  affairs  had  turned 
for  the  better,  a  spell  of  the  most  terrible  ill-luck  set  in. 
There  was  no  checking  it.  He  rode  headlong  for  a  smash. 
I  financed  him  time  and  again,  nearly  ruining  myself 
in  my  effort  to  save  him.  He  took  to  drink  badly. 
He  grew  desperate  in  his  gambling.  In  short,  I  saw  he 
had  given  up  all  hope.  Again  I  did  the  best  1  could. 
I  was  always  with  him.  My  object  was  to  endeavor  to 
keep  him  in  check.  In  his  drinking  bouts  I  was  with  him, 
and  when  he  insisted  on  poker  and  other  gambling  I 
was  there  to  take  a  hand.  If  I  hadn't  done  these  things — 
well,  others  would  have,  but  with  a  different  object. 
By  a  hundred  devices  I  managed  to  minimize  the  bad 
results  of  his  wild,  headstrong  career. 

"  Then  the  end  came.  Had  I  been  less  young,  had  I 
been  less  hopeful  for  him,  less  wrapped  up  in  him,  I  must 
have  foreseen  it.  We  were  playing  cards  in  his  apart- 
ments. His  housekeeper  and  his  baby  girl  were  in  a  dis- 
tant room.  They  were  in  bed.  You  see,  it  was  late  at 
night.  It  was  the  last  hand.  His  luck  had  been  diabolical, 
but  the  stakes  were  comparatively  low.  I  shall  never  for- 
get the  scene.  His  nerves  were  completely  shattered. 
He  picked  up  his  hand,  glanced  at  it — we  were  playing 
poker — jack  pots — and  flung  it  down.  *  I'm  done,'  he 
cried,  and,  kicking  back  his  chair,  rose  from  the  table.  He 
moved  a  pace  away  as  though  to  go  to  the  side-table  where 
the  whisky  and  soda  stood  I  thought  he  meant  having 
a  drink.  His  back  was  turned  to  me.  The  next  moment 
I  heard  shots.  He  seemed  to  stumble,  swung  round  with 
a  sort  of  jerk,  and  fell  face  downward  across  the  table. 


THE  BRIDGING  OF  YEARS  271 

"  I  jumped  to  his  assistance.  But — he  was  dead.  He 
had  shot  himself  through  the  heart  and  in  the  stomach. 
My  horror?  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  now.  I  was  utterly 
and  completely  unnerved.  If  I  hadn't  been  perhaps  I 
should  have  acted  differently-  I  should  have  called  his — 
housekeeper.  I  should  have  summoned  the  police — a 
doctor.  But  I  did  none  of  these.  My  horror  and  grief 
were  such  that  I — fled  ;  fled  like  the  coward  I  was.  Nor 
did  I  simply  flee  from  the  house.  I  left  everything,  and 
fled  from  the  city  that  night.  It  was  not  until  some  days 
afterward  that  I  realized  what  my  going  meant  to  me. 
You  see,  I  had  left  behind  me,  in  his  housekeeper,  the 
woman  I  loved — and  had  insulted  past  forgiveness.  I 
was  branded  as  his  murderer.  Do  you  see  ?  She  loved 
him,  and  was  his  housekeeper.  Oh,  there  was  nothing 
wrong  in  it !  I  knew  that.  His  baby  girl  was  the  child  of  his 
dead  wife.  Several  times  I  thought  of  returning  to  estab- 
lish my  innocence,  but  somehow  my  conduct  and  my 
story  wouldn't  have  fitted  in  the  eyes  of  a  jury.  Besides, 
there  was  that  insulted  woman.  She  had  accused  me  of 
the  murder.  It  was  quite  useless  to  go  back  It  meant 
throwing  away  my  life.  It  was  not  worth  it.  So  I  came 
here." 

Buck  offered  no  comment  for  a  long  time.  Comment 
seemed  unnecessary.  The  Padre  watched  him  with  eyes 
striving  to  conceal  their  anxiety. 

Finally,   Buck  put  a  question  that  seemed  unnecessary. 

"  Why  d'you  tell  me  now  ? ''  he  asked.  His  pipe  had 
gone  out  and  he  pushed  it  into  his  hip-pocket. 

The  Padre's  smile  was  rather  drawn. 

"  Because  of  you.     Because  of  my  friend's — baby  girl." 

"How?" 


272  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  The  child's  name  was  Joan.  Joan  Rest  is  the  daugh 
ter  of  Charles  Stanmore — the  man  I  am  accused  of  mur- 
dering. This  afternoon  I  advised  her  to  have  some  one 
to  live  with  her — a  relative.  She  is  sending  for  the  only 
one  she  has.  It  is  her  aunt,  Stanmore's  housekeeper — 
the  woman  I  insulted  past  forgiveness." 

Not  for  an  instant  did  Buck's  expression  change. 

"  Why  did  you  advise — that  ?"  he  asked. 

The  Padre's  eyes  suddenly  lit  with  a  subdued  fire,  and 
his  answer  came  with  a  passion  such  as  Buck  had  never 
witnessed  in  him  before. 

"Why?  Why?  Because  you  love  this  little  Joan, 
daughter  of  my  greatest  friend.  Because  I  owe  it  to 
you — to  her — to  face  my  accusers  and  prove  my  inno- 
cence." 

The  two  men  looked  long  and  earnestly  into  each  other's 
eyes.  Then  the  Padre's  voice,  sharp  and  strident,  sounded 
through  the  little  room. 

"Well?" 

Buck  rose  from  his  seat. 

"  Let's  eat,  Padre,"  he  said  calmly.  "  I'm  mighty 
hungry."  Then  he  came  a  step  nearer  and  gripped  the 
elder  man's  hand.  "  I'm  right  with  you,  when  things — 
get  busy." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BEASLEY  PLAYS  THE  GAME 

JOAN  lost  no  time  in  carrying  out  the  Padre's  wishes. 
Such  was  her  changed  mood,  such  was  the  strength  of 
her  new-born  hope,  such  was  the-  wonderful  healing  his 
words  had  administered  to  her  young  mind,  that,  for  the 
time  at  least,  her  every  cloud  was  dispersed,  lost  in  a  per- 
fect sheen  of  mental  calm. 

The  change  occurred  from  the  moment  of  her  return 
home.  So  changed  indeed  was  she  that  her  rough  but 
faithful  housekeeper,  dull  of  perception  to  all  those  things 
outside  the  narrow  focus  of  her  life  in  domestic  service, 
caught  a  faint  glimpse  of  it  without  anything  approach 
ing  a  proper  understanding.  She  realized  an  added 
energy,  which  seriously  affected  her  own  methods  of  per- 
forming her  duties  and  caused  her  to  make  a  mental  note 
that  her  young  mistress  was  assuming  "  airs  "  which  did 
not  fit  in  with  her  inexperience  of  those  things  amidst 
which  she,  the  farm-wife,  had  floundered  all  her  life.  She 
heard  her  moving  about  the  house,  her  joy  and  hope  finding- 
outlet  in  song  such  as  had  never  echoed  through  the  place 
before.  And  promptly  she  set  this  new  phase  down  to  the 
result  of  her  associations  with  the  young  "scallawag"  Buck 
She  noted,  too,  an  added  care  in  her  toilet,  and  this  in- 
spired the  portentous  belief  that  she  was  "  a-carryin'  on  " 
with  the  same  individual.  But  when  it  came  to  a  general 
"  turning-out "  of  the  living-rooms  of  the  house,  a  matter 


274  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

which  added  an  immense  amount  of  effort  to  her  own 
daily  duties,  her  protest  found  immediate  vent  in  no  un- 
certain terms. 

It  came  while  the  midday  dinner  was  in  preparation. 
It  rose  to  boiling-point  amidst  the  steam  from  her  cook- 
ing pots.  Finally  it  bubbled  over,  much  as  might  one  of 
her  own  kettles. 

Joan  was  standing  in  the  kitchen  giving  her  orders 
preparatory  to  departing  to  the  camp,  whither  she  was 
going  to  mail  her  letter  to  her  aunt  at  Beasley's  store. 

"  You  see,"  she  was  saying,  "  I'll  have  to  make  some 
changes  in  the  house.  I'm  expecting  my  aunt  from  St. 
Ellis  to  come  and  stay  with  me.  She  won't  be  able  to  do 
with  the  things  which  have  been  sufficient  for  me.  She 
will  have  my  room.  I  shall  buy  new  furniture  for  it.  I 
shall  get  Beasley  to  order  it  for  me  from  Leeson  Butte. 
Then  I  shall  use  the  little  room  next  yours.  And  while 
we're  making  these  changes  we'll  have  a  general  house- 
cleaning.  You  might  begin  this  afternoon  on  the  room  I 
am  going  to  move  into." 

The  old  woman  turned  with  a  scarlet  face.  It  may 
have  been  the  result  of  the  heat  of  cooking.  Then  again 
it  may  have  had  other  causes. 

"An*  when,  may  I  ast,  do  I  make  bricks?"  she  in- 
quired with  ponderous  sarcasm. 

Joan  stood  abashed  for  a  moment.  So  unexpected  was 
the  retort,  so  much  was  it  at  variance  with  her  own  mood 
that  she  had  no  answer  ready,  and  the  other  was  left  with 
the  field  to  herself. 

"  Now  jest  look  right  here,  Miss  Joan — ma'm,"  she 
cried,  flourishing  a  cooking  spoon  to  point  her  words. 
"( I  ain't  a  woman  of  many  words  by  no  means,  as  you 


BEASLEY  PLAYS  THE  GAME  275 

might  say,  but  what  I  sure  says  means  what  I  mean,  no 
more  an'  no  less,  as  the  say  in'  is.  I've  kep'  house  all  my 
life,  an'  I  reckon  ther's  no  female  from  St.  Ellis  ken  show 
me.  I've  bin  a  wife  an'  a  mother,  an'  raised  my  offsprings 
till  they  died.  I  did  fer  a  man  as  knew  wot's  wot  in  my 
George  D.  An'  if  I  suffered  fer  it,  it  was  jest  because  I 
know'd  my  duty  an'  did  it,  no  matter  the  consequences 
to  me  an'  mine.  I  tell  you  right  here,  an'  I'm  a  plain- 
spoken  woman  who's  honest,  as  the  sayin'  is,  I  turn  out 
no  house,  nor  room,  nor  nothin'  of  an  afternoon.  I  know 
my  duty  an'  I  do  it.  Ther's  a  chapter  of  the  Bible  fer 
every  day  o'  ]my  life,  an'  it  needs  digestin'  good — with 
my  dinner.  An'  I  don't  throw  it  up  fer  nobody." 

"  But — but "  Joan  began  to  protest,  but  the  other 

brushed  objection  aside  with  an  added  flourish  of  her 
spoon. 

"It  ain't  no  use  fer  you  to  persuade,  nor  cajole,  nor 
argify.  What  I  says  goes  fer  jest  so  long  as  I'm  willin' 
to  accept  your  ter'ble  ordinary  wages,  which  I  say  right 
here  won't  be  fer  a  heap  long  time  if  things  don't  change 
some.  I'm  a  respectable  woman  an'  wife  that  was,  but 
isn't,  more's  the  pity,  an'  it  ain't  my  way  to  chase  around 
the  house  a-screechin'  at  the  top  o'  my  voice  jest  as 
though  I'd  come  from  a  cirkis.  You  ain't  got  your  mind 
on  your  work.  You  ain't  got  your  heart  in  it,  singin'  all 
over  the  house,  like — like  one  o'  them  brazen  cirkis  gals. 
No,  nor  wot  with  scallawags  a-comin'  around  sparkin' 
you,  an'  the  boys  shootin'  theirselves  dead  over  you,  an' 
folks  in  the  camp  a-callin'  of  you  a  Jony  gal,  I  don't  guess 
I'll  need  to  stay  an'  receive  con — contamination,  as  you 
might  say.  That's  how  I'm  feelin' ;  an'  bein'  a  plain 
woman,  an'  a  'specterble  widow  of  George  D.,  who  was  a 


2;6  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

man  every  inch  of  him,  mind  you,  if  he  had  his  failin's, 
chasin'  other  folks'  cattle,  an'  not  readin'  their  brands 
right,  why,  out  it  comes  plump  like  a  bad  tooth  you're 
mighty  glad  to  be  rid  of,  as  the  savin'  is." 

The  woman  turned  back  to  her  cooking.  Her  manner 
was  gravely  disapproving,  and  she  had  managed  to  con- 
vey a  sting  which  somehow  hurt  Joan  far  more  than  she 
was  willing  to  admit.  Her  refusal  to  undertake  the 
added  work  was  merely  churlish  and  disconcerting,  but 
those  other  remarks  raised  a  decided  anger  not  un- 
touched by  a  feeling  of  shame  and  hurt.  But  Joan  did 
not  give  way  to  any  of  these  feelings  in  her  reply.  She 
did  the  only  dignified  thing  possible. 

"  You  need  not  wait  until  your  dissatisfaction  with  me 
overwhelms  you,  Mrs.  Ransford,"  she  said  promptly.  "  I 
engaged  you  by  the  month,  and  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will 
leave  me  to-day  month."  Then  she  added  with  a  shadow 
of  reproach  :  "  Really,  I  thought  you  were  made  of  better 
stuff." 

But  her  attitude  had  a  far  different  result  to  what  she 
had  expected.  She  turned  to  go,  preferring  to  avoid  a 
further  torrent  of  abuse  from  the  harsh  old  woman,  when 
the  spoon  flourished  in  the  air  as  the  widow  of  George  D. 
swung  round  from  her  pots  with  an  amazing  alacrity. 

"  You  ain't  chasin'  me  out,  Miss  Joan — ma'm  ?  "  she 
cried  aghast,  her  round  eyes  rolling  in  sudden  distress. 
"Why,  miss — ma'm,  I  never  meant  no  harm — that  I 
didn't.  Y'  see  I  was  jest  sore  hearin'  them  sayin'  things 
'bout  you  in  the  camp,  an'  you  a-singin'  made  me  feel 
you  didn't  care  nuthin'.  An'  these  scallawags  a-comin' 
around  a-sassin'  you,  an'  a-kissin'  you,  sort  o'  set  my 
blood  boilin'.  No,  miss — ma'm,  you  ain't  a-goin'  to 


BEASLEY  PLAYS  THE  GAME  277 

chase  me  out!  You  wouldn't  now,  would  you?"  she 
appealed.  "Jest  say  you  won't,  an'  I'll  have  the  house 
turned  sheer  upside  down  'fore  you  know  wher'  you  are. 
There,  jest  think  of  it.  You  may  need  some  un  to  ke'p 
that  scallawag  Buck  in  his  place.  How  you  goin'  to  set 
about  him  without  me  around  ?  I  ain't  quittin'  this  day 
month,  am  I,  miss — ma'm  ?  " 

The  old  woman's  abject  appeal  was  too  much  for 
Joan's  soft  heart,  and  her  smiling  eyes  swiftly  told  the 
waiting  penitent  that  the  sentence  was  rescinded.  In- 
stantly the  shadow  was  lifted  from  the  troubled  face. 

"  It  was  your  own  fault,  Mrs.  Ransford,"  Joan  said, 
struggling  to  conceal  her  amusement.  "  However,  if 

you  want  to  stay Well,  I  must  drive  into  the  camp 

before  dinner,  and  we'll  see  about  the  little  room  when  I 
return." 

"  That  we  will,  mum — miss.  That  we  will,"  cried  the 
farm-wife  in  cordial  relief  as  Joan  hurried  out  of  the 
room. 

Joan  drew  up  at  Beasley's  store  just  as  that  individual 
was  preparing  to  adjourn  his  labors  for  dinner.  The  man 
saw  her  coming  from  the  door  of  his  newly-completed 
barn,  and  softly  whistled  to  himself  at  the  sight  of  the 
slim,  girlish  figure  sitting  in  the  wagon  behind  the  heavy 
team  of  horses  he  had  so  long  known  as  the  Padre's. 

This  was  only  the  third  time  he  had  seen  the  girl 
abroad  in  the  camp,  and  he  wondered  at  the  object  of 
her  visit  now. 

Whatever  malice  he  bore  her,  and  his  malice  was  of  a 
nature  only  to  be  understood  by  his  warped  mind,  his 
admiration  was  none  the  less  for  it.  Not  a  detail  of  her 


278  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

appearance  escaped  his  quick,  lustful  eyes.  Her  dainty 
white  shirt-waist  was  covered  by  the  lightest  of  dust  coats, 
and  her  pretty  face  was  shadowed  by  a  wide  straw  hat 
which  protected  it  from  the  sun's  desperate  rays.  Her 
deeply-fringed  eyes  shone  out  from  the  shade,  and  set 
the  blood  pulsing  through  the  man's  veins.  He  saw  the 
perfect  oval  of  her  fair  face,  with  its  ripe,  full  lips  and 
delicate,  small  nose,  so  perfect  in  shape,  so  regular  in  its 
setting  under  her  broad  open  brow.  Her  wonderful  hair, 
that  ruddy-tinted  mass  of  burnished  gold  which  was  her 
most  striking  feature,  made  him  suck  in  a  whistling 
breath  of  sensual  appreciation.  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  hat  in  hand  he  went  to  meet  her. 

As  he  came  up  his  foxy  eyes  were  alight  with  what  he 
intended  for  a  grin  of  amiability.  Whatever  his  peculiarly 
vindictive  nature  he  was  more  than  ready  to  admit  to 
himself  the  girl's  charms. 

"Say,  Miss  Golden,"  he  cried,  purposely  giving  her 
the  name  the  popular  voice  had  christened  her,  "  it's  real 
pleasant  of  you  to  get  around.  Guess  the  camp's  a 
mighty  dull  show  without  its  lady  citizens.  Maybe  you'll 
step  right  up  into  my  storeroom.  I  got  a  big  line  of 
new  goods  in  from  Leeson.  Y'  see  the  saloon  ain't  for 
such  as  you,"  he  laughed.  "  Guess  it  does  for  the  boys 
all  right.  I'm  building  a  slap-up  store  next — just  dry 
goods  an'  notions.  Things  are  booming  right  now. 
They're  booming  so  hard  there's  no  keepin'  pace.  I'll 
tie  your  hosses  to  this  post." 

His  manner  was  perfect  in  its  amiability,  but  Joan 
detested  it  because  of  the  man.  He  could  never  disguise 
his  personality,  and  Joan  was  beginning  to  understand 
such  personalities  as  his. 


BEASLEY  PLAYS  THE  GAME  279 

"  Thanks,"  she  said  coldly,  as,  taking  advantage  of  his 
being  occupied  with  the  horses,  she  jumped  quickly  from 
the  vehicle.  "  I  came  to  mail  a  letter/'  she  said,  as  she 
moved  on  up  to  the  big  barn  which  was  Beasley's  tem- 
porary storehouse,  "  and  to  give  you  a  rather  large  order 
for  furnishing  and  things." 

She  produced  a  paper  with  her  list  of  requirements, 
and  handed  it  to  him. 

"  You  see,  I'm  refurnishing  the  farm,"  she  went  on, 
while  the  man  glanced  an  appreciative  eye  over  the 
extensive  order.  "Can  you  do  those  things?  "  she  asked 
as  he  looked  up  from  his  perusal. 

"  Why,  yes.  There's  nothing  difficult  there.  What 
we  can't  do  here  we  can  send  on  to  Leeson  Butte  for. 
I've  got  some  elegant  samples  of  curtains  just  come 
along.  Maybe  you'll  step  inside  ?  " 

In  spite  of  her  dislike  of  the  man  Joan  had  no  hesita- 
tion in  passing  into  the  storeroom.  She  had  no  desire 
in  the  world  to  miss  the  joy  of  inspecting  a  fresh  consign- 
ment of  dry  goods.  She  felt  almost  as  excited,  and  quite 
as  much  interested,  as  though  she  were  visiting  one  of 
the  great  stores  in  St.  Ellis. 

In  a  few  moments  she  was  lost  in  a  close  inspection  of 
the  display.  Nor  had  she  any  thought,  or  wonder,  that 
here  in  the  wilderness,  on  the  banks  of  Yellow  Creek,  such 
things  should  already  have  found  their  way.  For  a  long 
time  the  keen  man  of  business  expended  his  arts  of  per- 
suasion upon  her,  and,  by  the  time  the  girl  had  ex- 
hausted his  stock,  he  had  netted  a  sound  order.  His 
satisfaction  was  very  evident,  and  now  he  was  prepared 
to  regard  her  rather  as  a  woman  than  a  customer. 

"  Makes  you  think  some,"  he  observed,  with  a  wave  of 


280  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

his  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  piled-up  fabrics  and  un- 
opened cases.  Then  he  laughed  in  a  way  that  jarred 
upon  the  girl.  "  Ther's  money  to  burn  here.  Money  ! 
Whew  I  "  Then  his  eyes  became  serious.  "  If  it  only 
lasts  ! " 

"  Why  shouldn't  it  ?  "  asked  Joan  unsuspiciously.  She 
had  finished,  and  was  anxious  to  get  away.  But  the  man 
seemed  to  want  to  talk,  and  it  seemed  churlish  to  deny 
him. 

Beasley  shook  his  head,  while  his  eyes  devoured  her 
appealing  beauty. 

"  It  won't,"  he  said  decidedly.  "  It's  too  big — too  rich. 
Besides " 

''Besides  what?" 

The  man's  eyes  had  lost  their  grin.  They  were  the  eyes 
of  the  real  man. 

"  It's — devil's  luck.  I've  said  it  all  along.  Only  ther's 
sech  plaguey  knowalls  around  they  won't  believe  it.  Buck 
now — I  got  nothing  against  Buck.  He's  a  good  citizen. 
But  he's  got  a  streak  o'  yeller  in  him,  an'  don't  hold  with 
no  devil's  luck.  Maybe  you  remember."  He  grinned 
unpleasantly  into  the  girl's  eyes. 

She  remembered  well  enough.  She  was  not  likely  to 
forget  the  manner  in  which  Buck  had  come  to  her  help. 
She  flushed  slightly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  a  streak  of  yellow  '  ? '"  she 
demanded  coldly. 

11  It  don't  need  a  heap  of  explaining  He's  soft  on  mis- 
sion talk." 

Joan's  flush  deepened.  This  man  had  a  mean  way  of 
putting  things. 

"  If  you  mean  that  he  doesn't  believe  in — in  supersti- 


BEASLEY  PLAYS  THE  GAME  281 

tions,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  if  you  mean  he's  just  a 
straightforward,  honest-thinking  man — well,  I  agree  with 
you." 

Beasley  was  enjoying  the  spectacle  of  the  warmth  which 
prompted  her  defense.  She  was  devilish  pretty,  he  ad- 
mitted to  himself. 

"  Maybe  you  feel  that  way,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that 
jarred.  "  Say,"  he  went  on  shrewdly,  "  I'm  no  sucker, 
I'm  not  one  of  these  slobs  chasin'  gold  they're  eager  to 
hand  on  to  the  first  guy  holdin'  out  his  hand.  I'm  out  to 
make  a  pile.  I  had  a  claim  in  the  ballot.  Maybe  it's  a 
good  claim.  I  ain't  troubled  to  see.  Why?  I'll  tell 
you.  Maybe  I'd  have  taken  a  few  thousand  dollars  out 
of  it.  Maybe  a  heap.  Maybe  only  a  little.  Not  good — 
with  all  these  slobs  around."  He  shook  his  head.  "  I 
figured  I'd  git  the  lot  if  I  traded.  I'd  get  the  show  of  all 
of  the  claims.  See?  The  'strike  'ain't  goin'  to  last.  It's 
a  pocket  in  the  hill,  an'  it'll  peter  out  just  as  dead  sure  as 
— well  as  can  be.  An'  when  it's  petered  out  there's  going 
to  be  jest  one  feller  around  here  who's  made  a  profit — 
an'  it  ain't  one  of  those  who  used  the  sluice-boxes.  No, 
you  can  believe  what  you  like.  This  '  strike  '  was  jest  a 
devil's  laugh  at  folks  who  know  no  better.  An'  master 
Buck  has  handed  you  something  of  devil's  luck  when  he 
made  you  take  that  gold." 

There  was  something  very  keen  about  this  man,  and  in 
another  Joan  might  have  admired  it ;  but  Beasley's  mind 
was  tainted  with  such  a  vicious  meanness  that  admiration 
was  impossible. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Joan  staunchly.  '*  Neither 
does  Buck.  He  would  never  willingly  hand  me  the  trouble 
you  suggest." 


282  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Her  words  were  the  result  of  an  impetuous  defense  oi 
the  absent  man.  To  hear  this  man  attack  Buck  was  in- 
furiating. But  the  moment  she  had  uttered  them,  the  mo- 
ment she  had  seen  their  effect,  that  meaning  laugh  which 
they  brought  to  the  storekeeper's  lips,  she  wished  they 
had  never  been  spoken. 

"  Don't  guess  Buck  needs  to  scrap  fer  himself  with  you 
around,  Miss  Golden,"  he  laughed.  "Gee!  He's  in  luck. 
I  wonder  1 " 

Joan  choked  back  her  swift-rising  indignation.  The 
man  wasn't  worth  it,  she  told  herself,  and  hurriedly  pre- 
pared to  depart.  But  Beasley  had  no  intention  of  letting 
her  go  like  that. 

"  1  wonder  whether  he  is  in  luck,  though,"  he  went  on 
quickly,  in  a  tone  he  knew  the  girl  would  not  be  able  to 
resist.  His  estimate  was  right.  She  made  no  further 
move  to  go. 

"How?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  nuthin'  of  consequence,"  he  said  aggravatingly 
"  I  was  just  thinking  of  the  way  folks  are  talking."     Then 
he  laughed  right  out ;  and  if  Joan  had  only  understood 
the  man  she  would  have  known  that  his  merriment  was 
but  the  precursor  of  something  still  more  unpleasant. 

But  such  natures  as  his  were  quite  foreign  to  her.  She 
merely  instinctively  disliked  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked  unsuspiciously. 

Beasley  was  serious  again,  and  wore  an  air  of  depreca- 
tion when  he  answered  her. 

"  Oh  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  'tain't  nuthin'.  Y'  see  folks  are 
always  most  ready  to  gas  around.  It's  'bout  them  two 
boys.  They're  hot  about  'em.  Y'  see  Pete  was  a  mighty 
popular  feller,  an'  Ike  had  good  friends.  Y'  see  they  were 


BEASLEY  PLAYS  THE  GAME 

always  good  spenders — an'  most  folks  like  good  spenders. 
But  ther' — 'tain't  nuthin'  that  needs  tellin'  you.  Guess 
it'll  only  make  a  dandy  gal  like  you  feel  mean." 

The  man's  purpose  must  have  been  evident  to  anybody 
less  simple  than  Joan.  As  it  was  she  jumped  at  the  bait 
so  skilfully  held  out. 

"  But  you  must  tell  me,"  she  said,  remembering  Mrs. 
Ransford's  remarks.  "  I  insist  on  knowing  if  it  is  any- 
thing concerning  me." 

Beasley's  air  was  perfect.  His  eyes  were  as  frankly 
regretful  as  he  could  make  them. 

"Wai,"  he  said,  "it  certainly  does  concern  you — but 
I'd  rather  not  say  it." 

"  Go  on." 

Joan's  face  was  coldly  haughty. 

"  I  wouldn't  take  it  too  mean,"  said  Beasley  warningly. 
"  I  sure  wouldn't.  You  see  folks  say  a  heap  o'  things  that 
is  trash.  They  guess  it's  your  doin'  'bout  them  boys. 
They  reckon  you  played  'em  one  ag'in  t'other  for  their 
wads,  an'  both  o'  them  ag'in — Buck.  Y'  see — mind  I'm 
jest  tellin'  you  cos  you  asked — they  guess  you  ast  'em 
both  to  supper  that  evenin'.  Pete  said  he  was  ast,  an'  Ike 
let  on  the  same.  You  ast  'em  both  for  the  fun  of  the 
racket.  An'  you  had  Buck  around  to  watch  the  fun. 
Yes,  they're  pretty  hot.  An'  you  can't  blame  'em,  be- 
lievin'  as  they  do.  One  of  'em — I  forget  who  it  rightly 
was — he  called  you  the  camp  Jonah.  Said  just  as  long  as 
you  wer'  around  ther'd  be  trouble.  He  was  all  for  askin' 
you  to  clear  right  out.  He  said  more  than  that,  but  I 
don't  guess  you  need  to  know  it  all." 

"  But  I  do  need  to  know  it  all.  I  need  to  know  all  they 
said,  and — who  said  it." 


284  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Joan's  eyes  were  blazing.  Beasley  made  no  attempt  to 
conceal  his  satisfaction,  and  went  on  at  once  — 

"  Course  I  can't  give  you  names.  But  the  facts  I  don't 
guess  I'm  likely  to  forget — they  made  me  so  riled.  They 
said  that  farm  of  yours  was  just  a  blind.  It — it  was — well, 
you'd  come  along  here  for  all  you  could  get — an'  that " 

Joan  cut  him  short. 

"  That's  enough,"  she  cried.  "  You  needn't  tell  me  any 
more.  I — I  understand.  Oh,  the  brutal,  heartless  ruf- 
fians !  Tell  me.  Who  was  it  said  these  things  ?  I  de- 
mand to  know.  I  insist  on  the  names.  Oh  ! " 

The  girl's  exasperation  was  even  greater  than  Beasley 
had  hoped  for.  He  read,  too,  the  shame  and  hurt  under- 
lying it,  and  his  satisfaction  was  intense.  He  felt  that  he 
was  paying  her  off  for  some  of  the  obvious  dislike  she 
had  always  shown  him,  and  it  pleased  him  as  it  always 
pleased  him  when  his  mischief  went  home.  But  now, 
having  achieved  his  end,  he  promptly  set  about  wriggling 
clear  of  consequences,  which  was  ever  his  method. 

"  I'd  like  to  give  you  the  names/'  he  said  frankly. 
"  But  I  can't.  You  see,  when  fellers  are  drunk  they  say 
things  they  don't  mean,  an'  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  give 
them  away.  I  jest  told  you  so  you'd  be  on  your  guard 
— just  to  tell  you  the  folks  are  riled.  But  it  ain't  as  bad 
as  it  seems.  I  shut  'em  up  quick,  feeling  that  no  decent 
citizen  could  stand  an'  hear  a  pretty  gal  slandered  like 
that.  An'  Til  tell  you  this,  Miss  Golden,  you  owe  me 
something  for  the  way  I  made  'em  quit.  Still,"  he  added, 
with  a  leer,  "  I  don't  need  payment.  You  see,  I  was  just 
playin'  the  game." 

Joan  was  still  furious.  And  somehow  his  wriggling  did 
not  ring  true  even  in  her  simple  ears. 


BEASLEY  PLAYS  THE  GAME  285 

"  Then  you  won't  tell  me  who  it  was?"  she  cried. 

Beasley  shook  his  head. 

"NuthhV  doin',"  he  said  facetiously. 

"  Then  you — you  are  a  despicable  coward/'  she  cried. 
"  You— oh  ! "  And  she  almost  fled  out  of  the  hated 
creature's  storeroom. 

Beasley  looked  after  her.  The  satisfaction  had  gone 
from  his  eyes,  leaving  them  wholly  vindictive. 

"  Coward,  am  I,  ma'm  !"  he  muttered.  Then  he  looked 
at  the  order  for  furniture  which  was  still  in  his  hand. 

The  sight  of  it  made  him  laugh. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BUCK  LAUGHS  AT  FATE 

THE  telling  of  the  Padre's  story  cost  Buck  a  wakeful 
night.  It  was  not  that  he  had  any  doubts  either  of  the 
truth  of  the  story,  or  of  his  friend.  He  needed  no  evi- 
dence to  convince  him  of  either.  Or  rather,  such  was  his 
nature  that  no  evidence  could  have  broken  his  faith  and 
friendship.  Strength  and  loyalty  were  the  key-note  of  his 
whole  life.  To  him  the  Padre  was  little  less  than  a  god, 
in  whom  nothing  could  shake  his  belief.  He  honored 
him  above  all  men  in  the  world,  and,  such  as  it  was,  his 
own  life,  his  strength,  his  every  nerve,  were  at  his 
service.  Moreover,  it  is  probable  that  his  loyalty  would 
have  been  no  whit  the  less  had  the  man  pleaded  guilty  to 
the  crime  he  was  accused  of. 

No,  it  was  not  the  story  he  had  listened  to  which  kept 
him  wakeful.  It  was  not  the  rights  or  wrongs,  or  the 
significance  of  it,  that  inspired  his  unrest.  It  was  some- 
thing of  a  far  more  personal  note. 

It  was  the  full  awakening  of  a  mind  and  heart  to  a  true 
understanding  of  themselves.  And  the  manner  of  his 
awakening  had  been  little  short  of  staggering.  He  loved, 
and  his  love  had  risen  up  before  his  eyes  in  a  manner  the 
full  meaning  of  which  he  had  only  just  realized.  It  was 
his  friend  who  had  brought  about  his  awakening,  his 
friend  who  had  put  into  brief  words  that  which  had  been 
to  him  nothing  but  a  delicious  dream. 


BUCK  LAUGHS  AT  FATE  287 

The  man's  words  rang  through  his  brain  the  night 
long. 

"Why?  Why?"  they  said.  "Because  you  love  this 
little  Joan,  daughter  of  my  greatest  friend.  Because  I 
owe  it  to  you — to  her,  to  face  my  accusers  and  prove  my 


innocence." 


That  brief  passionate  declaration  had  changed  the 
whole  outlook  of  his  life.  The  old  days,  the  old  thoughts, 
the  old  unexpressed  feelings  and  hazy  ambitions  had 
gone — swept  away  in  one  wave  of  absorbing  passion. 
There  was  neither  future  nor  past  to  him  now.  He  lived 
in  the  thought  of  this  woman's  delightful  presence,  and 
beyond  that  he  could  see  nothing. 

Vaguely  he  knew  that  much  must  lay  before  him.  The 
past,  well,  that  was  nothing.  He  understood  that  the 
drift  of  life's  stream  could  no  longer  carry  him  along 
without  his  own  effort  at  guidance.  He  knew  that  some- 
where beyond  this  dream  a  great  battle  of  Life  lay  wait- 
ing for  his  participation.  He  felt  that  henceforth  he  was 
one  of  those  struggling  units  he  had  always  regarded  as 
outside  his  life.  And  all  because  of  this  wonderful  sun- 
light of  love  which  shone  deep  into  the  remotest  cells  of 
brain  and  heart.  He  felt  strong  for  whatever  lay  before 
him.  This  perfect  sunshine,  so  harmonious  with  every 
feeling,  thrilled  him  with  a  virile  longing  to  go  out  and 
proclaim  his  defiance  against  the  waiting  hordes  in  Life's 
eternal  battle.  No  road  could  be  so  rough  as  to  leave 
him  shrinking,  no  fight  so  fierce  that  he  was  not  confi- 
dent of  victory,  no  trouble  so  great  that  it  could  not 
be  borne  with  perfect  cheerfulness.  As  he  had  awakened 
to  love  so  had  he  awakened  to  life,  yearning  and  eager. 

As  the  long  night  wore  on  his  thought  became  clearer, 


288  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

more  definite.  So  that  before  his  eyes  closed  at  last  in  a 
broken  slumber  he  came  to  many  decisions  for  the  imme- 
diate future.  The  greatest,  the  most  momentous  of  these 
was  that  he  must  see  Joan  again  without  delay.  He  tried 
to  view  this  in  perfect  coolness,  but  though  the  decision 
remained  with  him  the  fever  of  doubt  and  despair  seized 
him,  and  he  became  the  victim  of  every  fear  known  to  the 
human  lover's  heart.  To  him  who  had  never  known  the 
meaning  of  fear  his  dread  became  tenfold  appalling. 
He  must  see  her — and  perhaps  for  the  last  time  in  his 
life.  This  interview  might  well  terminate  once  and  for  all 
every  thought  of  earthly  happiness,  and  fling  him  back 
upon  the  meagre  solace  of  a  wilderness,  which  now, 
without  Joan,  would  be  desolation  indeed. 

Yet  he  knew  that  the  chances  must  be  faced  now  and 
at  once.  For  himself  he  would  probably  have  delayed, 
rather  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  uncertainty  than 
risk  witnessing  the  swift  gathering  clouds  which  must  rob 
him  of  all  light  forever.  But  he  was  not  thinking  only  of 
himself.  There  was  that  other,  that  white-haired,  lonely 
man  who  had  said,  "  Because  you  love  this  little  Joan." 

The  wonderful  unselfishness  of  the  Padre  had  a  greater 
power  to  stir  Buck's  heart  than  any  other  appeal.  His 
sacrifice  must  not  be  permitted  without  a  struggle.  He 
knew  the  man,  and  he  knew  how  useless  mere  objection 
would  be.  Therefore  his  duty  lay  plain  before  him. 
Joan  must  decide,  and  on  her  decision  must  his  plans  all 
be  founded.  He  had  no  reason  to  hope  for  a  return  of  his 
love.  On  the  contrary,  it  seemed  absurd  even  to  hope, 
and  in  such  an  event  then  the  Padre's  sacrifice  would  be 
unnecessary.  If  on  the  other  hand — but  he  dared  not 
let  the  thought  take  shape.  All  he  knew  was  that  with 


BUCK  LAUGHS  AT  FATE  289 

Joan  at  his  side  no  power  of  law  should  touch  one  single 
white  hair  of  the  Padre's  head,  while  the  breath  of  life 
remained  in  his  body. 

It  was  a  big  thought  in  the  midst  of  the  most  selfish  of 
human  passions.  It  was  a  thought  so  wide,  that,  in  every 
aspect,  it  spoke  of  the  great  world  which  had  been  this 
man's  lifelong  study.  It  told  of  sublime  lessons  well 
learned.  Of  a  mind  and  heart  as  big,  and  broad,  and 
loyal  as  was  the  book  from  which  the  lessons  had  been 
studied. 

With  the  morning  light  came  a  further  steadiness  of  de- 
cision. But  with  it  also  came  an  added  apprehension, 
and  lack  of  mental  peace.  The  world  was  radiant  about 
him  with  the  wonder  of  his  love,  but  his  horizon  was  lost 
in  a  mist  of  uncertainty  and  even  dread. 

The  morning  dragged  as  such  intervening  hours  ever 
drag,  but  at  length  they  were  done  with,  and  the  momen- 
tous time  arrived.  Neither  he  nor  the  Padre  had  referred 
again  to  their  talk.  That  was  their  way.  Nor  did  any 
question  pass  between  them  until  Caesar  stood  saddled 
before  the  door. 

The  Padre  was  leaning  against  the  door  casing  with 
his  pipe  in  his  mouth.  His  steady  eyes  were  gravely 
thoughtful. 

"  Where  you  making  this  afternoon  ?  "  he  inquired,  as 
Buck  swung  into  the  saddle. 

Buck  nodded  in  the  direction  of  Joan's  home. 

"  The  farm." 

The  Padre's  eyes  smiled  kindly. 

"  Good  luck,"  he  said.  And  Buck  nodded  his  thanks 
as  he  rode  away. 

But  Buck's  outward  calm  was  studied.     For  once  in  his 


290  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Hie  his  confidence  had  utterly  failed  him.  He  rode  over 
the  trail  in  a  dazed  condition  which  left  him  almost  hope- 
less by  the  time  he  reached  the  familiar  corrals  of  the 
girl's  home.  As  a  consequence  he  reduced  Caesar's  pace 
to  a  walk  with  something  almost  childlike  in  his  desire 
to  postpone  what  he  now  felt  must  be  his  farewell  to  the 
wonderful  dream  that  had  been  his. 

But  even  at  a  walk  the  journey  must  come  to  an  end. 
In  his  case  it  came  all  too  soon  for  his  peace  of  mind, 
and,  to  his  added  disquiet,  he  found  himself  at  the  door 
of  the  old  barn.  Just  for  one  moment  he  hesitated. 
Then  he  lightly  dropped  to  the  ground.  The  next 
moment  the  horse  itself  had  taken  the  initiative.  With 
none  of  its  master's  scruples  it  clattered  into  the  barn, 
and,  walking  straight  into  its  old  familiar  stall,  com- 
menced to  search  in  the  corners  of  the  manger  for  the 
sweet-scented  hay  usually  awaiting  it. 

The  lead  was  irresistible  to  the  man.  He  followed  the 
creature  in,  removed  its  bridle  and  loosened  the  cinchas 
of  the  saddle.  Then  he  went  out  in  search  of  hay. 

His  quest  occupied  several  minutes.  But  finally  he  re- 
turned with  an  ample  armful  and  filled  up  the  manger. 
Then  came  upon  him  a  further  avalanche  of  doubt,  and 
he  stood  beside  his  horse,  stupidly  smoothing  the  beauti- 
ful creature's  warm,  velvet  neck  while  it  nuzzled  its  fodder. 

"Why— is  that  you,  Buck?" 

The  exclamation  startled  the  man  out  of  his  reverie  and 
set  his  pulses  hammering  madly.  He  turned  to  behold 
Joan  framed  in  the  doorway.  For  a  moment  he  stared 
stupidly  at  her,  his  dark  eyes  almost  fearful.  Then  his 
answer  came  quietly,  distinctly,  and  without  a  tremor  to 
betray  the  feelings  which  really  stirred  him. 


BUCK  LAUGHS  AT  FATE  291 

"It  surely  is,"  he  said.  Then  he  added,  "I  didn't 
know  I  was  coming  along  when  you  were  up  at  the  fort 
yesterday." 

But  Joan  was  thinking  only  how  glad  she  was  of  his 
coming.  His  explanation  did  not  matter  in  the  least. 
She  had  been  home  from  the  camp  something  over  an 
hour,  and  had  seen  some  one  ride  up  to  the  barn  without 
recognizing  Buck  or  the  familiar  Caesar.  So  she  had 
hastened  to  investigate.  Something  01  her  gladness  at 
sight  of  him  was  in  the  manner  of  her  greeting  now, 
and  Buck's  despondency  began  to  fall  from  him  as  he 
realized  her  unfeigned  pleasure. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  came,"  Joan  went  on  impulsively. 
"  So  glad,  so  glad.  I've  been  in  camp  to  order  things 
for — for  my  aunt's  coming.  You  know  your  Padre  told 
me  to  send  for  her.  I  mailed  the  letter  this  morning." 

"  You — sent  for  your  aunt  ?  " 

In  a  moment  the  whole  hideous  position  of  the  Padre 
came  upon  him,  smothering  all  his  own  personal  feel- 
ings, all  his  pleasure,  all  his  doubts  and  fears. 

"Why — yes."  Joan's  eyes  opened  wide  in  alarm. 
"  Have  I  done  wrong  ?  He  said,  send  for  her." 

Buck  shook  his  head  and  moved  out  of  the  stall. 

"You  sure  done  dead  right.     The  Padre  said  it" 

"  Then  what  was  the  meaning  in  your — what  you 
said  ? " 

Buck  smiled. 

"  Nothing — just  nothing." 

Joan  eyed  him  a  moment  in  some  doubt.  Then  she 
passed  the  matter  over,  and  again  the  pleasure  at  his 
coming  shone  forth. 

"  Oh,  Buck,"  she  cried,  "  there  are  some  mean  people 


292  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

in  the  world.  I've  been  talking  to  that  horror,  Beasley. 
He  is  a  horror,  isn't  he  ?  He's  been  telling  me  some- 
thing of  the  talk  of  the  camp.  He's  been  telling  me  how — 
how  popular  I  am,"  she  finished  up  with  a  mirthless  laugh. 

"  Popular  ?     I — I  don't  get  you." 

Buck's  whole  expression  had  changed  at  the  mention  of 
Beasley's  name.  Joan  had  no  reason  to  inquire  his 
opinion  of  the  storekeeper. 

"  You  wouldn't,"  she  hastened  on.  "  You  could  never 
understand  such  wicked  meanness  as  that  man  is  capable 
of.  I'm  sure  he  hates  me,  and  only  told  me  these — these 
things  to  make.me  miserable.  And  I  was  feeling  so  happy, 
too,  after  seeing  your  Padre,"  she  added  regretfully. 

"  An'  what  are  the  things  he's  been  sayin'  ?  " 

Buck's  jaws  were  set. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  what  he  said,  except — except  that 
the  men  think  I'm  responsible  for  the  death  of  those  two. 
The  other  things  were  too  awful.  It  seems  I'm — I'm  the 
talk  of  the  camp  in — in  an  awful  way.  He  says  they  hate 
me.  But  I  believe  it's  simply  him.  You  see,  he's  tried  to 
— to  ingratiate  himself  with  me — oh,  it's  some  time  back, 
and  I — well,  I  never  could  stand  him,  after  that  time  when 
the  boys  gave  me  the  gold.  I  wish  they  had  never 
given  me  that  gold  He  still  persists  it's  unlucky,  and 
I — I'm  beginning  to  think  so,  too." 

"Did  he — insult  you  ?  "  Buck  asked  sharply,  ignoring 
the  rest 

Joan  looked  quickly  into  the  man's  hot  eyes,  and  in 
that  moment  realized  the  necessity  for  prudence.  The 
fierce  spirit  was  shining  there.  That  only  partly  tamed 
spirit,  which  made  her  so  glad  when  she  thought  of  it. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said.     "  It  wasn't  that  he  insulted  me. 


BUCK  LAUGHS  AT  FATE  293 

No — no.  Don't  think  that.  Only  he  went  out  of  his  way 
to  tell  me  these  things,  to  make  me  miserable.  I  was 
angry  then,  but  I've  got  over  it  now.  It — it  doesn't  mat- 
ter. You  see  I  just  told  you  because — because " 

"  If  that  man  insulted  you,  I'd — kill  him  !  " 

Buck  had  drawn  nearer  to  her.  His  tall  figure  was 
leaning  forward,  and  his  eyes,  so  fiercely  alight,  burned 
down  into  hers  in  a  manner  that  half  frightened  her, 
yet  carried  with  it  a  feeling  that  thrilled  her  heart  with 
an  almost  painful  delight.  There  was  something  so 
magnetic  in  this  man's  outburst,  something  so  sweeping 
to  her  responsive  nature.  It  was  almost  as  though  he 
had  taken  her  in  his  two  strong  hands  and  made  her 
yield  obedience  to  his  dominating  will.  It  gave  her  a 
strange  and  wonderful  confidence.  It  made  her  feel  as 
if  this  power  of  his  must  possess  the  same  convincing 
strength  for  the  rest  of  the  world.  That  he  must  sway 
all  who  came  into  contact  with  him.  Her  gladness  at 
his  visit  increased.  It  was  good  to  feel  that  he  was 
near  at  hand. 

But  her  woman's  mind  sought  to  restrain  him. 

"  Please — please  don't  talk  like  that,"  she  said,  in  a 
tone  that  carried  no  real  conviction.  "  No,  Beasley 
would  not  dare  insult  me — for  himself/ 

The  girl  drew  back  to  the  oat  box,  and  seated  her- 
self. Buck's  moment  of  passion  had  brought  a  deep 
flush  to  his  cheeks,  and  his  dark  eyes  moved  restlessly. 

"Why  did  you  tell  me?" 

There  was  no  escaping  the  swift  directness  of  this  man's 
•aiind.  His  question  came  with  little  less  force  than  had 
been  his  threat  against  Beasley.  He  was  still  lashed  by 
his  thought  of  the  wretched  saloon-keeper. 


:294  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

But  Joan  had  no  answer  ready.  Why  had  she  told 
him  ?  She  knew.  She  knew  in  a  vague  sort  of  way. 
She  had  told  him  because  she  had  been  sure  of  his 
sympathy.  She  had  told  him  because  she  knew  his 
strength,  and  to  lean  on  that  always  helped  her.  With- 
out questioning  herself,  or  her  feelings,  she  had  come 
to  rely  upon  him  in  all  things. 

But  his  sharp  interrogation  had  given  her  pause.  She 
repeated  his  question  to  herself,  and  somehow  found 
herself  avoiding  his  gaze.  Somehow  she  could  give  him 
.no  answer. 

Buck  chafed  for  a  moment  in  desperate  silence.  He 
turned  his  hot  eyes  toward  the  door,  and  stared  out  at 
the  distant  hills.  Caesar  rattled  his  collar  chain,  and 
scattered  the  hay  in  his  search  for  the  choicest  morsels. 
The  heavy  draft  horses  were  slumbering  where  they  stood. 
Presently  the  man's  eyes  came  back  to  the  girl,  devour- 
ing the  beauty  of  her  still  averted  face. 

"  Say,"  he  went  on  presently,  "  you  never  felt  so  that 
your  head  would  burst,  so  that  the  only  thing  worth  while 
doin'  would  be  to  kill  some  one  ?  "  He  smiled.  "  That's 
how  I  feel,  when  I  know  Beasley's  been  talkin'  to  you." 

Joan  turned  to  him  with  a  responsive  smile.     She  was 
glad  he  was  talking  again.     A  strange  discomfort,  a  nerv 
ousness  not  altogether  unpleasant  had  somehow  taken 
hold  of  her,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  relieved  her. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  said  frankly.  "  I— don't  think  I  ever  feel 
that  way.  But  I  don't  like  Beasley." 

Buck's  heat  had  passed.     He  laughed. 

"  That  was  sure  a  fool  question  to  ask,"  he  said.  "  Say, 
it  'ud  be  like  askin'  a  dove  to  get  busy  with  a  gun." 


BUCK  LAUGHS  AT  FATE  295 

"  I've  heard  doves  are  by  no  means  the  gentle  crea- 
tures popular  belief  would  have  them." 

"  Guess  ther's  doves — an'  doves,"  Buck  said  enigmat- 
ically. "  I  can't  jest  see  you  bustin'  to  hurt  a  fly." 

"  Not  even  Beasley?" 

Joan  laughed  slily. 

But  Buck  ignored  the  challenge.  He  stirred  restlessly. 
He  thrust  his  fingers  into  the  side  pockets  of  the  waist- 
coat he  wore  hanging  open.  He  withdrew  them,  and 
shifted  his  feet.  Then,  with  a  sudden,  impatient  move- 
ment, he  thrust  his  slouch  hat  back  from  his  forehead. 

"  Guess  I  can't  say  these  things  right,"  he  gulped  out 
with  a  swift,  impulsive  rush.  "  What  I  want  to  say  is 
that's  how  I  feel  when  anything  happens  amiss  your  way. 
I  want  to  say  it  don't  matter  if  it's  Beasley,  or — or  jest 
things  that  can't  be  helped.  I  want  to  get  around  and 
set  'em  right  for  you " 

Joan's  eyes  were  startled.  A  sudden  pallor  had  re- 
placed the  smile  on  her  lips,  and  drained  the  rich,  warm 
color  from  her  cheeks. 

"  You've  always  done  those  things  for  me,  Buck,"  she 
interrupted  him  hastily.  "  You've  been  the  kindest — the 
best " 

"  Don't  say  those  things,"  Buck  broke  in  with  a  hardly 
restrained  passion.  "  It  hurts  to  hear  'em.  Kindest  ? 
Best  ?  Say,  when  a  man  feels  same  as  me,  words  like  them 
hurt,  hurt  right  in  through  here,"  he  tapped  his  chest 
with  an  awkward  gesture.  "They  drive  a  man  nigh 
crazy.  A  man  don't  want  to  hear  them  from  the  woman 
he  loves.  Yes,  loves  !  " 

The  man's  dark  eyes  were  burning,  and  as  the  girl  rose 
from  her  seat  he  reached  out  one  brown  hand  to  detain 


296  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

her.  But  his  gesture  was  needless.  She  made  no  move 
to  go.  She  stood  before  him,  her  proud  young  face  now 
flushing,  now  pale  with  emotion,  her  wonderful  eyes  veiled 
lest  he  should  read  in  their  depths  feelings  that  she  was 
struggling  to  conceal.  Her  rounded  bosom  rose  and  fell 
with  the  furious  beatings  of  a  heart  she  could  not  still. 

"  No,  no,"  the  man  rushed  on,  "  you  got  to  hear  me,  if 
it  makes  you  hate  me  fer  the  rest  of  your  life.  I'm  noth- 
ing but  jest  a  plain  feller  who's  lived  all  his  life  in  this 
back  country.  I've  got  no  education,  nothin'  but  jest 
what  I  am — here.  An'  I  love  you,  I  love  you  like  nothing 
else  in  all  the  world.  Say,"  he  went  on,  the  first  hot  rush 
of  his  words  checking,  "  I  bin  gropin'  around  these  hills 
learning  all  that's  bin  set  there  for  me  to  learn.  I  tried  to 
learn  my  lessons  right.  I  done  my  best.  But  this  one 
thing  they  couldn't  teach  me.  Something  which  I  guess 
most  every  feller's  got  to  learn  some  time.  An'  you've 
taught  me  that. 

"  Say."  The  restraint  lost  its  power,  and  the  man's 
great  passion  swept  him  on  in  a  swift  torrent.  "  I  never 
knew  a  gal  since  I  was  raised.  I  never  knew  how  she 
could  git  right  hold  of  your  heart,  an'  make  the  rest  of 
the  world  seem  nothing.  I  never  knew  how  jest  one 
woman  could  set  the  sun  shining  when  her  blue  eyes 
smiled,  and  the  storm  of  thunder  crowding  over,  when 
those  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  I  never  dreamed  how  she 
could  get  around  in  fancy,  and  walk  by  your  side  smilin' 
and  talkin'  to  you  when  you  wandered  over  these  lone- 
some hills  at  your  work.  I  never  knew  how  she  could 
come  along  an'  raise  you  up  when  you're  down,  an'  most 
everything  looks  black.  I've  learned  these  things  now. 
I've  learned  'em  because  you  taught  me." 


BUCK  LAUGHS  AT  FATE  297 

He  laughed  with  a  sort  of  defiance  at  what  he  felt  must 
sound  ridiculous  in  her  ears.  "  You  asked  me  to  teach 
you  !  Me  teach  you !  Say,  it's  you  taught  me — every- 
thing. It's  you  taught  me  life  ain't  just  a  day's  work  an' 
a  night's  sleep.  It's  you  taught  me  that  life's  a  wonder- 
ful, wonderful  dream  of  joy  an'  delight.  It's  you  taught 
me  the  sun's  shining  just  for  me  alone,  an'  every  breath 
of  these  mountains  is  just  to  make  me  feel  good.  It's  you 
taught  me  to  feel  there's  nothing  on  God's  earth  I  couldn't 
and  wouldn't  do  to  make  you  happy.  You,  who  taught 
me  to  Live !  You,  with  your  wonderful  blue  eyes,  an' 
your  beautiful,  beautiful  face.  You,  with  your  mind  as 
white  an'  pure  as  the  mountain  snow,  an'  your  heart  as 
precious  as  the  gold  our  folks  are  forever  chasin'.  I 
love  you,  Joan.  I  love  you,  every  moment  I  live.  I  love 
you  so  my  two  hands  ain't  enough  by  a  hundred  to  get 
helping  you.  I  love  you  better  than  all  the  world.  You're 
jest — jest  my  whole  life  !  " 

He  stood  with  his  arms  outstretched  toward  the  shrink- 
ing girl.  His  whole  body  was  shaking  with  the  passion 
that  had  sent  his  words  pouring  in  a  tide  of  unthought, 
unconsidered  appeal.  He  had  no  understanding  of 
whither  his  words  had  carried  him.  All  he  knew  was 
that  he  loved  this  girl  with  his  whole  soul  and  body. 
That  she  could  love  him  in  return  was  something  unbe- 
lievable, yet  he  must  tell  her.  He  must  tell  her  all  that 
was  in  his  simple  heart. 

He  waited.  It  seemed  ages,  but  in  reality  it  was  only 
moments. 

Presently  Joan  looked  up.  She  raised  her  eyes  timidly, 
and  in  a  moment  Buck  saw  that  they  were  filled  with  un- 
shed tears.  He  started  forward,  but  she  shrank  back 


298  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

farther.  But  it  was  not  with  repugnance.  Her  move- 
ment was  almost  reluctant,  yet  it  was  decided.  It  was 
sufficient  for  the  man,  and  slowly,  hopelessly  he  dropped 
his  arms  to  his  sides  as  the  girl's  voice  so  full  of  distress 
at  last  broke  the  silence. 

"  Oh,  Buck,  Buck,  why — oh,  why  have  you  said  these 
things  to  me  ?  You  don't  know  what  you  have  done. 
Oh,  it  was  cruel  of  you." 

"Cruel?"  Buck  started.  The  color  faded  from  his 
cheeks.  "  Me  cruel — to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes.  Don't  you  understand  ?  Can't  you  see  ? 
Now — now  there  is  nothing  left  but— disaster.  Oh,  to 
think  that  I  should  have  brought  this  upon  you — you  of 
ail  men  ! " 

Buck's  eyes  suddenly  lit.  Unversed  as  he  was  in  all 
such  matters,  he  was  not  blind  to  the  feeling  underlying 
her  words.  But  the  light  swiftly  died  from  his  eyes  as  he 
beheld  the  great  tears  roll  slowly  down  the  girl's  fair 
cheeks,  and  her  face  droop  forward  into  her  hands. 

In  a  moment  all  restraint  was  banished  in  the  uprising 
of  his  great  love.  Without  a  thought  of  consequences  he 
bridged  the  intervening  space  at  one  step,  and,  in  an  in- 
stant, his  arms  were  about  the  slim,  yielding  figure  he  so 
tenderly  loved.  In  a  moment  his  voice,  low,  tender,  yet 
wonderful  in  its  consoling  strength,  was  encouraging  her. 

"  Disaster?"  he  said.  "  Disaster  because  1  love  you? 
Where  ?  How  ?  Say,  there's  no  disaster  in  my  love  for 
you.  There  can't  be.  All  I  ask,  all  I  need  is  jest  to  make 
your  path — easier.  Your  troubles  ain't  yours  any  longer. 
They  sure  ain't.  They're  mine,  now,  if  you'll  jest  hand 
'em  to  me.  Disaster  ?  No,  no,  little  gal.  Don't  you  to 
cry.  Don't.  Your  eyes  weren't  made  for  cryin'.  They're 


BUCK  LAUGHS  AT  FATE  299 

jest  given  you  to  be  a  man's  hope.     For  you  to  see  just 
how  much  love  he's  got  for  you." 

Joan  submitted  to  his  embrace  for  just  so  long  as  he  was 
speaking.  Then  she  looked  up  with  terrified  eyes  and  re- 
leased herself. 

"  No,  no,  Buck.  I  must  not  listen.  I  dare  not.  It  is 
my  fate.  My  terrible  fate.  You  don't  understand. 
Beasley  was  right.  I  was  responsible  for  Ike's  death. 
For  Pete's  death.  But  not  in  the  way  he  meant.  It  is 
my  curse.  They  loved  me,  and — disaster  followed  in- 
stantly. Can't  you  see  ?  Can't  you  see  ?  Oh,  my  dear, 
can't  you  see  that  this  same  disaster  must  dog  you — 
now?" 

Buck  stared.     Then  he  gathered  himself  together. 

"  Your  fate  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  am  cursed.  Oh,"  Joan  suddenly  gave  a 
shrill  laugh  that  was  painful  to  hear.  "  Every  man  that 
has  ever  told  me — what  you  have  told  me — has  met  with 
disaster,  and — death." 

For  one  second  no  sound  broke  the  stillness  of  the  barn 
but  the  restless  movements  of  Caesar.  Then,  suddenly,  a 
laugh,  a  clear,  buoyant  laugh,  full  of  defiance,  full  of  in- 
credulity, rang  through  the  building. 

It  was  Buck.  He  moved  forward,  and  in  a  moment  the 
girl  was  lying  close  upon  his  breast. 

"  Is  that  the  reason  you  mustn't,  daren't,  listen  to  me  ?  " 
he  cried,  in  a  voice  thrilling  with  hope  and  confidence 
"  Is  that  the  only  reason  ?  Jest  because  of  death  an'  disaster 
to  me  ?  Jest  that,  an' — nothing  more  ?  Tell  me,  little  gal. 
Tell  me  or — or  I'll  go  mad." 

"  Yes,  yes.     But  oh,  you  don't " 

"  Yes,  I  do.     Say,  Joan,  my  little,  little  gal.     Tell  me.. 


300  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Tell  me  right  now.  You  ain't — hatin'  me  for — for  loving 
you  so  bad.  Tell  me." 

Joan  hid  her  face,  and  the  tall  man  had  to  bend  low  to 
catch  her  words. 

"  I  couldn't  hate  you,  Buck.     I — I " 

But  Buck  heard  no  more.  He  almost  forcibly  lifted  the 
beautiful,  tearful  face  to  his,  as  he  bent  and  smothered  it 
with  kisses. 

After  a  few  moments  he  stood  her  away  from  him,  hold- 
ing her  slight  shoulders,  one  in  each  hand.  His  dark 
eyes  were  glowing  with  a  wild  happiness,  a  wonderful, 
reckless  fire,  as  he  peered  into  her  blushing  face. 

"  You  love  me,  little  gal  ?  You  love  me  ?  Was  ther* 
ever  such  a  thought  in  the  mind  of  sane  man  ?  You  love 
me?  The  great  big  God's  been  mighty  good  to  me. 
Disaster  ?  Death  ?  Let  all  the  powers  of  man  or  devil 
come  along,  an'  I'll  drive  'em  back  to  the  hell  they  be- 
long to." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

IRONY 

THE  hills  roll  away,  banking  on  every  side,  mounting 
up,  pile  on  pile,  like  the  mighty  waves  of  a  storm-swept 
ocean.  The  darkening  splendor,  the  magnificent  rug- 
gedness  crowds  down  upon  the  narrow  open  places  with 
a  strange  sense  of  oppression,  almost  of  desolation.  It 
seems  as  if  nothing  on  earth  could  ever  be  so  great  as 
that  magnificent  world,  nothing  could  ever  be  so  small  as 
the  life  which  peoples  it. 

The  oppression,  the  desolation  grows.  The  silent 
shadows  of  the  endless  woods  crowd  with  a  suggestion  of 
horrors  untold,  of  mysteries  too  profound  to  be  even 
guessed  at.  A  strange  feeling  as  of  a  reign  of  enchant- 
ment pervading  sets  the  flesh  of  the  superstitious  creep- 
ing. And  the  narrow,  patchy  sunlight,  by  its  brilliant 
contrast,  only  serves  to  aggravate  the  sensitive  nerves. 

Yet  in  the  woods  lurk  few  enough  dangers.  It  is  only 
their  dark  stillness.  They  are  still,  still  in  the  calm  of  the 
brightest  day,  or  in  the  chill  of  a  windless  night.  A 
timid  bear,  a  wolf  who  spends  its  desolate  life  in  dismal 
protest  against  a  solitary  fate,  the  crashing  rush  of  a 
startled  caribou,  the  deliberate  bellow  of  a  bull  moose, 
strayed  far  south  from  its  northern  fastnesses.  These  are 
the  harmless  creatures  peopling  the  obscure  recesses. 
For  the  rest,  they  are  the  weird  suggestions  of  a  sensitive 
imagination. 


302  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

The  awe,  however,  is  undeniable  and  the  mind  of  man 
can  never  wholly  escape  it.  Familiarity  may  temper,  but 
inborn  human  superstition  is  indestructible.  The  brood- 
ing silence  will  shadow  the  lightest  nature.  The  storms 
must  ever  inspire  wonder.  The  gloom  hushes  the  voice. 
And  so  the  growing  dread.  Man  may  curse  the  hills  in 
his  brutal  moments,  the  thoughtful  may  be  driven  to  de- 
spair, the  laughter-loving  may  seek  solace  in  tears  of  de- 
pression. But  the  fascination  clings.  There  is  no  escape. 
The  cloy  of  the  seductive  drug  holds  to  that  world  of 
mystery,  and  they  come  to  it  again,  and  yet  again. 

Something  of  all  this  was  vaguely  drifting  through  the 
mind  of  one  of  the  occupants  of  a  four-horsed,  two- 
wheeled  spring  cart  as  it  rose  upon  the  monstrous 
shoulder  of  one  of  the  greater  hills.  Before  it  lay  a  view 
of  a  dark  and  wild  descent,  sloping  away  unto  the  very 
bowels  of  a  pit  of  gloom.  The  trail  was  vague  and  bush- 
grown,  and  crowding  trees  dangerously  narrowed  it.  To 
the  right  the  hill  fell  sharply  away  at  the  edge  of  the 
track,  an  abyss  that  might  well  have  been  bottomless  for 
aught  that  could  be  seen  from  above.  To  the  left  the 
crown  of  the  hill  rose  sheer  and  barren,  and  only  at  its 
foot  grew  the  vegetation  that  so  perilously  narrowed  the 
track.  Then,  ahead,  where  the  trail  vanished,  a  misty 
hollow,  dark  and  deep — the  narrowing  walls  of  a  black 
canyon. 

The  blue  eyes  of  the  teamster  were  troubled.  Was 
there  ever  such  a  country  for  white  man  to  travel  ?  His 
horses  were  jaded.  Their  lean  sides  were  tuckered. 
Gray  streaks  of  sweat  scored  them  from  shoulder  to 
flank. 

The  man  lolled  heavily  in  his  driving  seat  in  the  man- 


IRONY  303 

ner  of  the  prairie  teamster.  He  knew  there  was  trouble 
ahead,  but  it  was  practically  all  he  did  know  of  the  journey 
before  him. 

As  the  cart  topped  the  rise  he  bestirred  himself.  His 
whip  flicked  the  air  without  touching  the  horses,  and  he 
chirrupped  encouragingly.  The  weary  but  willing  crea- 
tures raised  their  drooping  heads,  their  ribs  expanded  as 
they  drew  their  "tugs"  taut,  and,  at  a  slow,  shuffling 
trot,  they  began  the  descent. 

A  voice  from  behind  caused  the  man  to  glance  swiftly 
over  his  shoulder. 

"It's  no  use  asking  you  where  we  are  now,  I  sup- 
pose?" it  said  in  a  peevish  tone. 

But  the  teamster's  mood  was  its  match. 

"  Not  a  heap,  I  guess,  ma'm,"  he  retorted,  and  gave 
up  his  attention  to  avoiding  the  precipice  on  his  right. 

"  How  far  is  the  place  supposed  to  be?" 

The  woman's  unease  was  very  evident.  Her  eyes 
were  upon  the  darkening  walls  of  the  canyon  toward 
which  they  were  traveling. 

"  Eighty  miles  from  Crowsfoot.  That's  how  the  boss 
said,  anyways." 

"  How  far  have  we  come  now  ? " 

The  man  laughed.  There  seemed  to  be  something 
humorous  in  his  passenger's  inquiries. 

"Crowsfoot  to  Snarth's  farm,  thirty-five  miles,  good. 
Snarth's  to  Rattler  Head,  thirty.  Sixty-five.  Fifteen 
into  this  precious  camp  on  Yellow  Creek.  Guess  we  bin 
comin'  along  good  since  sun-up,  an'  now  it's  noon. 
Countin'  our  stop  fer  breakfast  we  ought  to  make  thirty 
odd  miles.  Guess  we  come  a  good  hundred."  He 
laughed  again. 


304  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

The  woman  gave  an  exclamation  of  impatience  and 
vexation. 

"  I  think  your  employer  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  him- 
self sending  you  to  do  the  journey.  You  don't  know 
where  you  are,  or  what  direction  we're  going  in.  The 
horses  are  nearly  foundered,  and  we  may  be  miles  and 
miles  from  our  destination.  What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

"  Ke'p  goin'  jest  as  long  as  the  hosses  ken  ke'p  foot  to 
the  ground.  Guess  we'll  ease  'em  at  the  bottom,  here. 
It's  nigh  feed  time.  Say,  ma'm,  it  ain't  no  use  worritin'. 
We'll  git  som'eres  sure.  The  sun's  dead  ahead." 

"  What's  the  use  of  that?"  Mercy  Lascelles  snapped  at 
the  man's  easy  acceptance  of  the  situation.  "  I  wish  now 
I'd  come  by  Leeson  Butte." 

"That's  sure  how  the  boss  said,"  retorted  the  man. 
"The  Leeson  trail  is  the  right  one.  It's  a  good  trail,  an' 
I  know  most  every  inch  of  it.  You  was  set  comin'  round 
through  the  hills.  Guessed  you'd  had  enough  prairie  on 
the  railroad.  It's  up  to  you.  Howsum,  we'll  make  some- 
wheres  by  nightfall.  Seems  to  me  I  got  a  notion  o'  that 
hill,  yonder.  That  one,  out  there,"  he  went  on,  pointing 
with  his  whip  at  a  bald,  black  cone  rising  in  the  distance 
against  the  sky.  "  That  kind  o'  seems  like  the  peak  o' 
Devil's  Hill.  I  ain't  jest  sure,  but  it  seems  like." 

Mercy  looked  in  the  direction.  Her  eyes  were  more 
angry  than  anxious,  yet  anxiety  was  her  principal  feeling. 

"  I  hope  to  goodness  it  is.  Devil's  Hill.  A  nice  name. 
That's  where  the  camp  is,  isn't  it  ?  I  wish  you'd  hurry 
on." 

The  teamster  spat  over  the  dashboard.  A  grim  smile 
crept  into  his  eyes.  His  passenger  had  worried  him  with 


IRONY  305 

troublesome  questions  all  the  journey,  and  he  had  long 
since  given  up  cursing  his  boss  for  sending  him  on  the 
job. 

"  'Tain't  no  use,"  he  said  shortly.  Then  he  explained. 
"  Y'  see,  it  'ud  be  easy  droppin'  over  the  side  of  this. 
Guess  you  ain't  yearnin'  fer  glory  that  way  ?  " 

"  We'll  never  get  in  at  this  pace,"  the  woman  cried  im- 
patiently. 

But  the  teamster  was  losing  patience,  too.  Suddenly 
he  became  very  polite,  and  his  pale  blue  eyes  smiled  mis- 
chievously down  upon  his  horses'  backs. 

"  Guess  we  don't  need  to  hurry  a  heap,  ma'm,"  he 
said.  "Y'  see,  in  these  hills  you  never  can  tell.  Now 
we're  headin'  fer  that  yer  canyon.  Maybe  the  trail  ends 
right  ther'." 

"Good  gracious,  man,  then  what  are  we  going  to  do?" 

"  Do  ?  Why,  y'  see,  ma'm,  we'll  have  to  break  a  fresh 
trail — if  that  dogone  holler  ain't  one  o'  them  bottomless 
muskegs,"  he  added  thoughtfully. 

He  flicked  his  whip  and  spat  again.  His  passenger's 
voice  rose  to  a  sharp  staccato. 

"  Then  for  goodness'  sake  why  go  on?"  she  demanded. 

"  Wai,  y'  see,  you  can't  never  tell  till  you  get  ther'  in 
these  hills.  Maybe  that  canyon  is  a  river,  an'  if  so  the 
entrance  to  it's  nigh  sure  a  muskeg.  A  bottomless 
muskeg.  You  seen  'em,  ain't  you?  No?  Wai,  they're 
swamps,  an'  if  we  get  into  one,  why,  I  guess  ther's  jest 
Hail  Columby,  or  some  other  fool  thing  waitin'  for  us  at 
the  bottom.  Stilt  ther'  mayn't  be  no  muskeg.  As  I  sez, 
you  never  can  tell,  tho'  ther'  most  gener'ly  is.  Mebbe 
that's  jest  a  blank  wall  without  no  trail.  Mebbe  this  trail 
ends  at  a  sheer  drop  of  a  few  hundred  feet  an'  more 


306  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Mebbe  agin  the  trail  peters  out  'fore  we  get  ther'.  That's 
the  way  in  these  yer  hills,  ma'm ;  you  never  can  tell  if 
you  get  lost.  An'  gittin'  lost  is  so  mighty  easy.  Course 
we  ain't  likely  to  starve  till  we've  eat  up  these  yer  dogone 
ol1  hosses.  Never  eaten  hoss?  No?  'Tain't  so  bad. 
Course  water's  easy,  if  you  don't  light  on  one  o'  them 
fever  swamps.  Mountain  fever's  pretty  bad.  Still,  I 
don't  guess  we'll  git  worried  that  way,  ma'm.  I'd  sure 
say  you're  pretty  tough  fer  mountain  fever  to  git  a  holt 
of.  It's  the  time  that's  the  wust.  It  might  take  us  weeks 
gittin'  out, — once  you  git  lost  proper.  But  even  so  I 
don't  guess  ther's  nothin'  wuss  than  timber  wolves  to 
worry  us.  They're  mean.  Y'  see  they're  nigh  allus 
starvin' — or  guess  they  are.  B'ars  don't  count  a  heap, 
less  you  kind  o'  run  into  'em  at  breedin'  season.  Le's 
see,  this  is  August.  No,  'tain't  breedin'  season."  He 
sighed  as  if  relieved.  Then  he  stirred  quickly  and  glanced 
round,  his  face  perfectly  serious.  "  Guess  you  got  a  gun  ? 
It's  allus  good  to  hev  a  gun  round.  You  never  ken  tell 
in  these  yer  hills — when  you  git  lost  proper." 

"  Oh,  you're  a  perfect  fool.  Go  on  with  your  driving." 
Mercy  sat  back  in  her  seat  fuming,  while  the  teamster 
sighed,  gently  smiling  down  at  his  horses. 

"  Mebbe  you're  right,  ma'm,"  he  said  amiably.  "  These 
dogone  hills  makes  fools  o'  most  fellers,  when  they  git 
lost  proper — as  I'd  sure  say  we  are  now." 

But  the  man  had  achieved  his  object.  The  woman 
desisted  from  further  questioning.  She  sat  quite  still, 
conscious  of  the  unpleasant  fact  that  the  man  was  laugh- 
ing at  her,  and  also  perfectly  aware  that  his  incompetence 
was  responsible  for  the  fact  that  they  were  utterly  lost 
amongst  the  wild  hills  about  them. 


IRONY  307 

She  was  very  angry.  Angry  with  the  man,  angry  with 
herself,  for  not  being  guided  by  the  hotel  keeper  at 
Crowsfoot,  but  more  than  all  she  was  angry  with  Joan 
for  bidding  her  make  the  journey. 

Yet  she  had  been  unable  to  resist  the  girl's  appeal. 
Her  inability  was  not  from  any  sentimental  feeling  or 
sympathy.  Such  feelings  could  never  touch  her.  But 
the  appeal  of  the  manner  in  which  her  curse  still  followed 
the  girl,  and  the  details  she  had  read  through  the  lines  of 
her  letter,  a  letter  detailing  the  circumstances  of  her  life 
on  Yellow  Creek,  and  written  under  the  impulse  and  hope 
inspired  by  the  Padre's  support  had  given  her  the 
keenest  interest.  All  the  mystical  side  of  her  nature  had 
been  stirred  in  a  manner  she  could  not  deny,  had  no  de- 
sire to  deny. 

Yes,  she  had  come  to  investigate,  to  observe,  to  seek 
the  truth  of  her  own  pronouncement.  She  had  come 
without  scruple,  to  watch  their  effect.  To  weigh  them  in 
the  balance  of  her  scientific  mysticism.  She  had  come  to 
watch  the  struggles  of  the  young  girl  in  the  toils  which 
enveloped  her.  Her  mind  was  the  diseased  mind  of  the 
fanatic,  prompted  by  a  nature  in  which  cruelty  held  chief 
place. 

But  now  had  come  this  delay.  Such  was  her  nature 
that  personal  danger  ever  appalled  her.  Death  and 
disaster  in  the  abstract  were  nothing  to  her,  but  their 
shadows  brushing  her  own  person  was  something  more 
than  terrifying.  And  as  she  thought  of  the  immensity  of 
the  world  about  her,  the  gloom,  the  awful  hush,  the  spirit 
of  the  hills  got  hold  of  her  and  left  her  full  of  apprehen- 
sion. 

The  teamster  now  devoted  his  whole  attention  to  his 


308  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

whereabouts.  His  passenger's  interminable  questioning 
silenced,  he  felt  more  at  his  ease.  And  feeling  at  his  ease 
he  was  able  to  bring  his  prairie-trained  faculties  to  bear 
on  the  matter  in  hand.  As  they  progressed  down  the 
slope  he  closely  observed  the  tall,  distant  crown  which  he 
thought  he  recognized,  and  finally  made  up  his  mind  that 
his  estimate  was  right.  It  certainly  was  the  cone  crown 
of  Devil's  Hill.  Thus  his  certainty  now  only  left  him 
concerned  with  the  ultimate  development  of  the  trail  they 
were  on. 

It  was  quite  impossible  to  tell  what  that  might  be.  The 
road  seemed  to  be  making  directly  for  the  mouth  of  the 
canyon,  and  yet  all  his  experience  warned  him  that  such  a 
destination  would  be  unusual.  It  must  turn  away.  Yet 
where  ?  How  ? 

He  searched  ahead  on  the  hillside  above  him  for  a 
modification  of  its  slope.  And  a  long  way  ahead  he 
fancied  he  detected  such  an  indication.  But  even  so,  the 
modification  was  so  slight  that  there  seemed  little  enough 
hope. 

He  kept  on  with  dogged  persistence.  To  return  was 
not  to  be  thought  of  yet.  Any  approach  to  vacillation 
now  would  be  quite  fatal. 

The  trail  was  fading  out  to  little  more  than  a  double 
cattle  track,  and  the  farther  he  looked  along  it  the  more 
indistinct  it  seemed  to  become.  Yet  it  continued,  and  the 
ever  downward  slope  went  on,  and  on. 

His  anxious  eyes  were  painfully  alert.  Where  ?  Where  ? 
He  was  asking  himself  with  every  jog  of  his  weary  horses. 
Then  all  of  a  sudden  his  questions  ceased,  and  a  decided 
relief  leapt  into  his  eyes  as  he  drew  his  horses  up  to  a  halt 

He  turned  to  his  passenger  and  pointed  with  his  whip 


IRONY  309 

at  the  hill  abreast  of  them,  his  eyes  undoubtedly  witness- 
ing his  relief. 

"  See  that,  ma'm  ?  "  he  cried.  And  Mercy  beheld  a  nar- 
row, rough  flight  of  steps  cut  in  the  face  of  the  hill. 
Each  step  was  deliberately  protected  with  a  timber  facing 
securely  staked  against  "  washouts,"  and  though  the 
workmanship  was  rough  it  was  evidently  the  handiwork 
of  men  who  thought  only  of  endurance.  It  rose  from  the 
trail-side  in  a  slanting  direction,  and,  adopting  the  easiest 
course  on  the  slope,  wound  its  way  to  the  very  crown  of 
the  hill,  over  the  top  of  which  it  vanished. 

"Well?" 

The  woman's  inquiry  was  ungracious  enough. 

"  Why,  that's  the  meanin'  o'  this  yer  trail."  The  man 
pointed  above.  "That  sure  leads  som'eres." 

"  I  suppose  it  does." 

Mercy  snapped  her  reply. 

"Sure,"  said  the  man.  "There's  shelter  up  ther',  any- 
ways. An'  by  the  looks  o'  them  steps  I'd  say  folks  is  livin' 
ther'  right  now." 

"  Then  for  goodness'  sake  go  up  and  see,  and  don't  sit 
there  wasting  time.  I  never  had  to  deal  with  such  a  per- 
fect fool  in  my  life.  Pass  the  reins  over  to  me,  and  I'll 
wait  here." 

The  man  grinned.  But  instead  of  handing  her  the  reins 
he  secured  them  to  the  iron  rail  of  the  cart. 

"  Guess  them  hosses  know  best  wot  to  do  'emselves,"  he 
observed  quietly,  as  he  scrambled  from  the  cart.  "  Best 
let  'em  stand  theirselves,  ma'm, — you  never  know  wot's 

along  the  end  of  that  trail — muskegs  is "  His  final 

jibe  was  lost  in  a  deep-throated  chuckle  as  he  began  the 
steep  ascent  before  him. 


3io  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Mercy  watched  him  with  angry  eyes.  The  man  added 
impertinence  to  his  foolishness,  and  the  combination  was 
altogether  too  much  for  her  temper.  But  for  the  fact  that 
she  required  his  services,  she  would  well  have  wished  that 
he  might  fall  and  break  his  neck.  But  her  chief  concern 
was  to  reach  her  destination,  so  she  watched  him  climb 
the  long  steps  in  the  hope  that  some  comforting  result 
might  follow. 

As  the  man  rose  higher  and  higher,  and  his  figure  grew 
smaller,  his  climb  possessed  an  even  greater  interest  for 
Mercy  Lascelles  than  she  admitted.  She  began  to  ap- 
preciate the  peril  of  it,  and  peril,  in  others,  always  held  her 
fascinated. 

He  was  forced  to  move  slowly,  clinging  closely  with 
both  hands  to  the  steps  above  him.  It  would  be  easy  to 
slip  and  fall,  and  she  waited  for  that  fall.  She  waited 
with  nerves  straining  and  every  faculty  alert. 

So  absorbed  was  she  that  she  had  forgotten  the  horses, 
forgotten  her  own  position,  everything,  in  the  interest  of 
the  moment.  Had  it  been  otherwise,  she  must  have 
noticed  that  something  had  attracted  the  drooping  horses' 
attention.  She  must  have  observed  the  suddenly  lifted 
heads,  and  pricked  ears.  But  these  things  passed  her  by, 
as  did  the  approach  of  a  solitary  figure  bearing  a  burden 
of  freshly  taken  fox  pelts,  which  quite  enveloped  its  mass- 
ive shoulders 

The  man  was  approaching  round  a  slight  bend  in  the 
trail,  and  the  moment  the  waiting  cart  came  into  view,  he 
stood,  startled  at  the  apparition.  Then  he  whistled  softly, 
and  glanced  back  over  the  road  he  had  come.  He  looked 
at  a  narrow  point  where  the  trail  suddenly  ended,  a  sharp 
break  where  the  cliff  dropped  away  abruptly,  and  further 


IRONY  3" 

progress  could  only  be  made  by  an  exhausting  downward 
climb  by  a  skilled  mountaineer. 

Then  he  came  slowly  on,  his  gray  eyes  closely  scrutiniz 
ing  the  figure  in  the  cart.  In  a  moment  he  saw  that  it 
was  a  woman,  and,  by  her  drooping  pose,  recognized  that 
she  was  by  no  means  young.  His  eyes  took  on  a  curious 
expression — half  doubt,  half  wonder,  and  his  face  grew  a 
shade  paler  under  his  tan.  But  the  change  only  lasted  a 
few  seconds.  He  quickly  pulled  himself  together,  and, 
shaking  his  white  head  thoughtfully,  continued  his  way 
toward  the  vehicle  with  the  noiseless  gait  which  moccasins 
ever  give  to  the  wearer.  He  reached  the  cart  quite  un- 
observed. The  woman's  whole  attention  was  absorbed 
by  the  climbing  man,  and  the  newcomer  smiled  curiously 
as  he  passed  a  greeting. 

"You've  hit  a  wrong  trail,  haven't  you?"  he  inquired. 

The  woman  in  the  cart  gave  a  frantic  start,  and  clutched 
at  the  side  rail  as  though  for  support.  Then  her  eyes 
came  on  a  level  with  the  man's  smiling  face,  and  fear  gave 
way  to  a  sudden  expression  of  relentless  hatred. 

"  You  ?  "  she  cried,  and  her  lean  figure  seemed  to  crouch 
as  though  about  to  spring. 

The  man  returned  her  stare  without  flinching.  His  eyes 
still  wore  their  curious  smile. 

"Yes,"  he  said.     «  It  is  I" 

The  woman's  lips  moved.  She  swallowed  as  though 
her  throat  had  suddenly  become  parched. 

"  Moreton  Bucklaw,"  she  murmured.  "  And — and  after 
all  these  years." 

The  man  nodded.  Then  several  moments  passed  with- 
out a  word. 

Finally  it  was  the  man  who  spoke.     His  manner  was 


312  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

calm,  so  calm  that  no  one  could  have  guessed  a  single 
detail  of  what  lay  between  these  two,  or  the  significance 
of  their  strange  meeting. 

"  You've  hit  a  bad  trail,"  he  said.  "  There's  a  big  drop 
back  there.  These  steps  go  on  up  to  my  home.  The  old 
fort.  They're  an  old  short  cut  to  this  valley.  Guess 
your  man'll  need  to  unhitch  his  horses  and  turn  the  cart 
round.  He  can't  get  it  round  else.  Then,  if  you  go 
back  past  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  you'll  see  an  old  track, 
sharp  to  your  right.  That  leads  into  the  trail  that'll  take 
you  right  on  down  to  the  farm  where  little  Joan  lives." 
He  moved  toward  the  steps.  "  I'll  tell  your  man,"  he 
said. 

He  mounted  the  steps  with  the  ease  of  familiarity ;  his 
great  muscles  making  the  effort  appear  ridiculously  easy. 
A  little  way  up  he  paused,  and  looked  down  at  her. 

"  Guess  I  shall  see  you  again?"  he  said,  with  the  same 
curious  smile  in  his  steady  eyes. 

And  the  woman's  reply  came  sharply  up  the  hillside  to 
him.  It  came  with  all  the  pent-up  hatred  of  years,  con- 
centrated into  one  sentence.  The  hard  eyes  were  alight 
with  a  cold  fury,  which,  now,  in  her  advancing  years, 
when  the  freshness  and  beauty  that  had  once  been  hers 
could  no  longer  soften  them,  was  not  without  its  effect 
upon  the  man. 

"  Yes.     You  will  see  me  again,  Moreton  Bucklaw." 

And  the  man  continued  the  ascent  with  a  feeling  as 
though  he  had  listened  to  the  pronouncement  of  his  death 
sentence. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  WEB  OF  FATE 

JOAN  had  looked  forward  to  her  aunt's  coming  with 
very  mixed  feelings.  There  were  moments  when  she  was 
frankly  glad  at  the  prospect  of  a  companionship  which 
had  been  hers  since  her  earliest  childhood.  Her  nature 
had  no  malice  in  it,  and  the  undoubted  care,  which,  in  her 
early  years,  the  strange  old  woman  had  bestowed  upon 
her  counted  for  much  in  her  understanding  of  duty  and 
gratitude.  Then,  besides,  whatever  Aunt  Mercy's  out- 
look, whatever  the  unwholesomeness  of  the  profession  she 
followed  with  fanatical  adherence,  she  was  used  to  her, 
used  to  her  strangenesses,  her  dark  moments.  If  affec- 
tion had  never  been  particularly  apparent  in  the  elder 
woman's  attitude  toward  her,  there  had  certainly  been  a 
uniform  avoidance  of  the  display  of  any  other  feeling 
until  those  last  few  days  immediately  preceding  her  own 
flight  from  St.  Ellis.  Habit  was  strong  with  Joan,  so 
strong,  indeed,  that  in  her  happy  moments  she  was  glad 
at  the  thought  of  the  return  into  her  life  of  the  woman 
who  had  taken  the  place  of  her  dead  parents. 

Then,  too,  even  the  memory  of  that  frenzied  morning, 
when  Aunt  Mercy,  laboring  under  her  awful  disease  of 
mysticism,  had  assumed  the  r61e  of  prophetess,  and  accuser, 
and  hurled  at  her  troubled  head  a  denunciation  as  cruel 
as  it  was  impossible,  had  lost  something  of  its  dread  sig- 
nificance and  sting.  At  the  time  it  had  been  of  a  blast- 


314  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

ing  nature,  but  now — now,  since  she  had  conferred  with 
Buck's  great  friend,  since  Buck's  wonderful  support  had 
been  added  to  her  life,  all  the  harshness  of  the  past  ap- 
peared in  a  new  and  mellowed  light.  She  believed  she 
saw  her  aunt  as  she  really  was,  a  poor,  torn  creature, 
whose  mind  was  diseased,  as  a  result  of  those  early  fires 
of  disappointment  through  which  she  had  passed. 

The  Padre  had  denied  the  fate  that  this  aunt  had  con- 
vinced her  of.  Buck  had  defied  it,  and  laughed  it  out  of 
countenance.  These  men,  so  strong,  so  capable,  had 
communicated  to  her  receptive  nature  something  of  the 
hope  and  strength  that  was  theirs.  Thus  she  was  ready 
to  believe,  to  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  them,  feel- 
ing that  in  the  future  nothing  could  hurt  her.  So  she  was 
ready  for  her  aunt's  coming. 

But  to  live  up  to  her  determination  was  not  always 
easy.  She  had  yielded  to  all  her  old  superstitious  dread 
at  the  moment  when  Buck  had  first  opened  her  eyes  to 
the  wonderful  love  that  had  so  silently,  so  unknown,  yet 
so  swiftly  grown  up  in  her  heart  for  him.  In  that  de- 
licious awakening,  when  lost  in  a  joy  almost  inconceiv- 
able, when  her  defenses  were  at  their  weakest,  the  enemy's 
attack  had  come  swiftly  and  surely.  Her  very  love  had 
aided  it.  Her  dread  for  the  man  had  gripped  her  heart, 
and  all  her  mind  and  senses  had  gone  back  to  the  un- 
speakable fears  she  had  only  just  learnt  to  deny.  Nor 
was  it  until  his  denial,  a  denial  given  with  that  wonderful 
laugh  of  confidence,  had  she  been  able  to  drag  herself 
back  to  the  new  path  which  his  white-haired  friend  had 
marked  out  for  her. 

Since  then,  however,  she  had  been  able  to  contemplate 
her  aunt's  coming  in  something  of  the  spirit  in  which  she 


THE  WEB  OF  FATE  315 

desired  to  welcome  her.  She  felt  that  now,  at  least,  .she 
was  proof  against  the  unwholesome  thought  of  the 
woman's  diseased  mind.  There  were  certain  unacknowl- 
edged trepidations  as  the  time  drew  near,  but  these  she 
contrived  to  smother  under  the  excitement  and  interest  of 
preparing  her  house  for  the  reception,  and  the  radiant 
confidence  of  Buck,  which  never  failed  to  support  her. 

Every  morning  and  every  evening  brought  Buck's 
strong  presence  to  the  farm  for  a  brief  visit.  And  each 
visit  was  a  dream  of  delight  to  the  simple,  loving  girl. 
All  day  long,  as  she  labored  through  her  household  cares, 
and  the  affairs  of  the  farm  she  lived  in,  she  dwelt  on  the 
memory  of  the  morning  visit,  or  looked  forward  to  her 
lover's  coming  as  the  sun  reached  the  western  skies. 
Every  night,  when  she  sought  the  snow-white  ease  of  her 
bed,  it  was  to  spend  her  few  remaining  minutes  of  waking 
dwelling  on  the  happiness  of  past  moments,  and  ulti- 
mately to  anticipate  in  dreams  the  delights  of  the  morrow. 

So  the  days  sped  rapidly  by  and  the  time  for  Aunt 
Mercy's  arrival  drew  on.  And  with  each  passing  day  the 
shadows  receded,  her  trepidations  became  less  and  less, 
until  they  almost  reached  the  vanishing-point.  She  felt 
that  in  Buck's  love  no  shadow  could  live.  With  him  at 
her  side  she  need  have  no  fear  of  evil.  He  was  exalted 
by  the  very  wholesomeness  of  his  mind  and  heart,  and 
the  strength  and  confidence  that  was  his,  far,  far  above 
the  level  of  hideous  superstitions  and  happenings.  His 
love  for  her,  her  love  for  him  were  too  great,  far  too  great, 
for  disaster  to  ever  touch  them. 

Then  came  Aunt  Mercy. 

She  came  in  the  middle  of  an  oppressive  afternoon. 
The  days  of  late  had  assumed  an  extraordinary  oppress- 


3i6  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

iveness  for  the  season  of  the  year.  She  came  amidst  the 
peaceful  calm  when  all  farm  life  seems  to  be  wrapped  in 
a  restful  somnolence,  when  the  animal  world  has  spent  its 
morning  energies,  and  seeks  rest  that  it  may  recuperate 
for  the  affairs  surrounding  its  evening  meal. 

With  her  coming  Joan's  first  realization  was  of  dismay 
at  the  manner  in  which  she  had  underestimated  the 
woman's  personality,  how  strangely  absence  had  distorted 
her  view  of  the  mind  behind  those  hard,  gray  eyes.  And 
with  this  realization  came  an  uneasy  feeling  that  the  power 
and  influence  which  had  sent  her  rushing  headlong  from 
her  home,  to  seek  the  peace  of  the  wilderness,  was  no 
fancy  of  a  weak,  girlish  mind,  but  a  force,  a  strong,  living 
force,  which  made  itself  felt  the  instant  she  came  into  the 
woman's  uncanny  presence  again. 

She  was  just  the  same  unyielding  creature  she  had  al- 
ways known.  Her  peevish  plaint  at  the  journey,  her 
railing  at  the  stupidity  and  impertinence  of  the  teamster, 
her  expressed  disgust  at  the  country,  her  complaining  of 
everything.  These  things  were  just  what  Joan  must  have 
expected,  had  she  not  lived  away  from  her  aunt,  and  so 
lost  her  proper  focus.  Joan  did  her  best  to  appease  her. 
She  strove  by  every  art  of  her  simple  mind  to  interest  her 
and  divert  her  thought  and  mood  into  channels  less  harsh. 
But  she  had  little  success,  and  it  quickly  became  apparent 
that  the  lapse  of  time  since  her  going  from  home  had  ag- 
gravated rather  than  improved  the  strange  mental  condi- 
tion under  which  her  aunt  labored. 

After  the  first  greetings,  and  Joan  had  conducted  hei 
to  her  room,  which  she  had  spent  infinite  time  and  thought 
in  arranging,  the  old  woman  remained  there  to  rest  until 
supper-time.  Then  she  reappeared,  and,  by  the  signs  oi 


THE  WEB  OF  FATE  317 

her  worn,  ascetic  face,  the  cruel  hollows  about  those  ada- 
mant eyes,  the  drawn  cheeks  and  furrowed  brow,  the  girl 
realized  that  rest  with  her  was  not  easy  to  achieve.  She 
saw  every  sign  in  her  now  that  in  the  old  days  she  had 
learned  to  dread  so  acutely. 

However,  there  was  no  help  for  it.  She  knew  it  was 
not  in  the  nature  of  that  busy  brain  to  rest,  and  one  day 
the  breaking-point  would  be  reached,  and  the  end  would 
come  suddenly. 

But  at  supper-time  there  was  a  definite  change  in  her 
aunt's  mental  attitude.  Whereas  before  her  whole  thought 
had  been  for  the  outpouring  of  her  complaint  at  her  per- 
sonal discomforts,  now  all  that  seemed  to  have  been  for- 
gotten in  something  which  held  her  alert  and  watchful. 
Joan  had  no  thought  or  suspicion  of  the  working  of  the 
swift-moving  brain.  Only  was  she  pleased,  almost  de- 
lighted at  the  questioning  and  evident  interest  in  her  own 
affairs. 

The  meal  was  nearly  over.  Aunt  Mercy,  as  was  her 
habit,  had  eaten  sparingly,  while  she  alternately  listened 
to  the  details  of  the  girl's  farm  life,  the  manner  of  the  gold 
camp,  the  history  of  her  arrival  there  and  the  many  vicis- 
situdes which  had  followed,  and  voiced  the  questions  of 
her  inquisitorial  mind.  Now  she  leant  back  in  her  chair 
and  slowly  sipped  a  cup  of  strong,  milkless  tea,  while  her 
eyes  watched  the  girl's  expressive  face. 

Joan  had  purposely  avoided  mention  of  the  many  details 
which  had  had  such  power  to  disturb  her  in  the  past. 
She  had  no  desire  to  afford  a  reopening  of  the  scene  she 
had  endured  that  morning  at  St.  Ellis.  But  Mercy  Las- 
celles  was  not  to  be  thwarted  by  any  such  simple  subter- 
fuge. 


3i 8  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  You've  told  me  a  lot  of  what  doesn't  matter,"  she  said 
sharply,  after  a  pause,  while  she  sipped  her  tea.  "Now 
tell  me  something  that  does."  She  glanced  down  at  the 
flashing  diamond  rings  upon  her  fingers.  "  By  your  letter 
you  have  not  escaped  from  those  things  you  hoped  to — 
when  you  left  St.  Ellis." 

Joan  started.  She  was  sitting  with  her  elbows  on  the 
table,  her  chin  resting  on  her  clasped  hands.  Mercy  Las- 
celles  observed  the  start,  but  offered  no  comment.  She 
waited.  She  could  afford  to  wait.  She  had  read  and  un- 
derstood the  girl's  letter.  Besides,  there  was  something 
else  in  her  mind.  Something  else  which  required  piecing 
into  the  web  which  linked  their  lives  together.  She  knew 
that  it  held  an  important  place,  but  its  exact  position  her 
busy  brain  was  still  groping  to  resolve. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  talk  about — those  things?"  the 
girl  asked  half  appealingly.  "  Is  it  necessary  ?  I  am 
very  happy,  auntie,  so  happy  that  I  don't  want  to  risk  los- 
ing a  moment  of  it.  I  have  not  always  been  happy  since 
I  came  here." 

The  hard,  gray  eyes  suddenly  lifted  to  the  girl's  face, 
and  there  was  mocking  in  their  depths. 

"  You  mentioned  them  light-heartedly  enough  in  your 
letter.  You  spoke  of  the  death  of  two  men  to  point  your 
assurance  that  their  death  had  nothing  to  do  with  your — 
fate.  Some  one  had  reassured  you.  Some  one  had 
made  plain  the  absurdity  that  such  a  fate  could  ever  be. 
Some  one  had  shown  you  that  such  convictions  only  lived 
in  the  human  mind  and  had  no  actual  place  in  the  scheme 
of  things.  Surely  with  this  wonderful  truth  behind  you, 
you  need  not  shrink  from  details  of  things  which  have  no 
connection  with  your  life." 


THE  WEB  OF  FATE  319 

The  icy  sarcasm  would  not  be  denied.  It  was  the  old 
note  Joan  had  been  so  familiar  with.  Its  sting  was  as 
poignant  as  ever,  but  somehow  now  it  stirred  her  to  a 
defense  of  those  who  had  come  to  her  aid  in  her  direst 
need. 

But  this  was  her  aunt's  first  day  on  the  farm.  She  felt 
she  must  restrain  herself.  She  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  a 
weakly  attempt. 

"  You  are  quite  unchanged,  auntie,"  she  said. 

"  I  might  say  the  same  of  you,  Joan,"  came  the  sharp 
retort. 

But  Joan  shook  her  head. 

"  You  would  be  quite  wrong.  I  have  changed  so  much 
that  you  can  never  make  me  believe  again  in — all  that 
which  you  made  me  believe  before.  Let  me  be  frank. 
Nothing  but  my  conviction  that  lam  no  more  cursed  by 
an  evil  fate  than  is  every  other  living  creature  would  have 
induced  me  to  ask  you  here.  I  have  asked  you  to  come 
here  and  share  my  home  because  you  are  my  aunt,  my 
only  relative,  who  has  been  good  to  me  in  the  past.  Be- 
cause I  am  lonely  here  without  you,  and — and — oh,  don't 
you  understand  ?  There  are  only  us  two  left.  Yes,  I 
want  to  be  with  you."  She  broke  off,  but  in  a  moment 
went  on  rapidly.  "But  this  could  never  have  been  had  I 
still  believed  what  you  made  me  believe.  Under  that 
old  shadow  I  would  have  gone  to  the  ends  of  the  world 
rather  than  have  been  near  you.  Can't  you  understand  ? 
Let  us  forget  it  all — let  us  begin  a  new  life  together." 

Mercy  shook  her  head.  She  was  quite  unmoved  by  the 
girl's  appeal. 

"  There  is  only  one  life.  There  is  no  beginning  again. 
Those  who  talk  like  that  are  fools.  That  is  why  I  say 


320  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

you,  too,  are  unchanged."  The  woman's  eyes  lit.  They 
suddenly  became  filled  with  that  cold  fire  which  Joan 
knew  so  well.  "  You  think  you  are  changed.  You  think 
by  an  effort  of  will — your  own,  combined  with  that  of  an- 
other, you  have  escaped  that  which  has  followed  you 
from  your  birth.  You  think  that  every  disaster  that  has 
ever  occurred  to  those  with  whom  you  have  been  as- 
sociated, and  those  who  have  belonged  to  you,  can  be  ac- 
counted for  naturally.  You,  with  your  foolish  brain,  and 
the  equally  foolish  brain  of  that  other.  Why,  girl,  you 
deny  it  in  every  line  of  the  letter  you  wrote  me.  It  is 
there — there  in  every  word,  in  its  very  atmosphere.  You 
are  lying  to  yourself  under  the  influence  of  this  other — 
who  lies  to  you.  Prove  what  you  say  if  you  want  me  to 
believe.  The  scientific  mind  must  have  proof,  undeniable, 
irrefutable  proof.  Statements,  mere  statements  of  unbe- 
lief are  meaningless  things  which  do  not  convince  even 
their  authors.  If  you  need  to  convince  yourself,  and  con- 
vince me,  then  engage  yourself  to  some  man,  marry  him, 
and  I  tell  you  now  you  will  bring  about  the  direst  tragedy 
that  ever  befel  human  creature." 

"  I — I  have  done  what — what  you  dare  me  to  do.  I 
have  engaged  myself  to  marry.  I  am  going  to  marry 
the  man  I  love  more  than  life  itself." 

Joan  had  risen  from  her  seat.  She  stood  erect,  her  beau- 
tiful head  thrown  back.  An  ecstatic  light  shone  in  the 
deep  velvet  softness  of  her  eyes.  But  even  as  she  spoke  a 
sudden  paling  lessened  the  delicate  bloom  of  her  cheeks. 

The  other,  with  her  cold  eyes  leveled  at  her,  was  quick 
to  observe. 

"  And  who  is — your  victim  ?  " 

Joan's  pallor  increased  as  she  stared  for  a  moment  with 


THE  WEB  OF  FATE  321 

dilating  eyes  at  the  woman  who  could  be  capable  of  such 
cruelty.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  a  protest  of  such  bitterness 
sprang  to  her  lips  that  even  Mercy  Lascelles  was  startled. 

"  Oh,  God,  was  there  ever  such  callous  heartlessness  in 
human  creature  ?  Was  there  ever  such  madness  in  sane 
woman  ?  You  ask  me  to  prove  my  convictions,  you  ask 
me  for  the  one  method  by  which  even  you  can  be  con- 
vinced, and  when  I  show  you  how  far  my  new  faith  has 
carried  me  you  taunt  me  by  asking  who  is  my — victim. 
Oh,  aunt,  for  the  love  of  all  you  ever  held  dear,  leave  me 
in  peace.  Let  me  prove  to  you  my  own  destiny,  but  leave 
me  in  peace  until  I  have  done  so,  or — failed.  Can  you 
not  see  that  I  am  trying  to  preserve  my  sanity  ?  And  by 
every  word  and  look  you  are  driving  me  to  the  verge  of 
madness.  The  man  I  love  knows  all,  he  and  his  great 
friend.  He  knows  all  you  have  ever  told  me,  and  his 
love  is  the  strongest  and  bravest.  He  laughs  this  fate  to 
scorn,  he  has  no  fears  for  himself,  or  for  me.  I  tell  you  you 
shall  have  your  proof.  But  you  must  leave  me  in  peace." 

For  a  moment  it  almost  seemed  as  if  her  aunt  were 
abashed  at  the  passion  of  her  protest.  She  withdrew  her 
cold  stare,  and,  with  her  jeweled  hands  folded  in  her  lap, 
gazed  down  at  the  white  table-cloth.  She  waited  until 
Joan  dropped  despairingly  back  into  her  chair,  then  she 
looked  up,  and  her  glance  was  full  of  malicious  irony. 

"  You  shall  have  your  way — after  to-night.  You  shall 
not  hear  one  word  of  warning  from  me.  But  to-night  you 
must  let  me  have  my  way.  You  say  you  believe.  I  tell 
you  I  know.  You  must  do  your  best,  and — fail.  Have 
your  way."  She  withdrew  her  gaze  and  her  eyes  became 
introspective.  "Who  is  this  man — you  say  you  are  going 
to  marry  ?  " 


322  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Joan  warmed  under  the  change  in  her  aunt's  manner. 
Her  relief  at  the  other's  assurance  was  almost  boundless, 
although  the  effect  of  the  woman's  previous  attitude  was 
to  leave  her  far  less  sure  of  herself. 

"  It  is  Buck,"  she  said  impulsively.  "  He  is  the  great 
friend  of  the  man  from  whom  I  bought  this  farm.  Oh, 
auntie,  wait  until  you  see  him.  You  will  realize,  as  I 
have,  his  strength,  his  goodness.  You  will  have  no 
doubts  when  you  know  him.  You  will  understand  that 
he  has  no  fear  of  any — any  supernatural  agencies,  has  no 
fear  of  any  fancied  fate  that  may  be  awaiting  him. 
Auntie,  he  is  tall,  so  tall,  and — oh,  he's  wonderful.  And 
his  name,  Buck — don't  you  like  it  ?  It  is  so  like  him. 
Buck — independence,  courage,  confidence.  And,  oh, 
auntie,  I  love  him  so." 

Mercy  remained  quite  unmoved.  It  almost  seemed 
doubtful  if  she  heard  and  understood  all  the  simple  girl- 
ishness  in  her  niece's  rhapsody,  so  preoccupied  she  seemed 
with  her  own  thoughts. 

"  It  was  his  friend,  you  say,  who  has  taught  you  that 
— you  have  nothing  further  to  fear  ?  And  who  is  this 
paragon  ? 

"  He  is  the  man  who  sold  me  the  farm.  He  is  such  a 
good,  kind  creature.  He  is  loved  and  respected  by  every 
soul  in  the  place.  He  is  so  wise,  too, — he  is  quite  wonder- 
ful. You  know,  he  only  sold  his  farm  to  me  to  keep  the 
miners  from  starving  before  they  found  the  gold.  He  is 
a  sort  of  foster-father  to  Buck.  He  found  him  when  he 
was  a  little  boy — picked  him  up  on  the  trail-side.  That's 
about  twenty  years  ago,  soon  after  the  Padre — that's  what 
they  call  him — first  came  here." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  but  his  name  ?" 


THE  WEB  OF  FATE  323 

Mercy  had  little  patience  with  such  detail  as  interested 
the  fresh  young  mind  of  the  girl. 

"  Moreton  Kenyon." 

The  eyes  of  the  old  woman  shot  a  swift  glance  into  the 
girl's  face. 

"  Moreton — who  ?  " 

"  Kenyon." 

Mercy  sat  up  in  her  chair.  Her  whole  figure  was  poised 
alertly.  Her  eyes  were  no  longer  uninterested.  She  was 
stirred  to  swift  mental  activity.  She  knew  that  the  web 
was  readjusting  itself.  The  portion  she  had  been  seeking 
to  place  was  finding  its  own  position. 

"  He  has  a  head  of  thick  white  hair.  He  has  gray 
eyes,  darkly  fringed.  He  is  a  man  of  something  over 
fifty.  His  shoulders  are  massive.  His  limbs  sturdy  and 
powerful." 

Mercy  detailed  her  description  of  the  man  in  sharp, 
jerky  sentences,  each  one  definite  and  pointed.  She 
spoke  with  the  certainty  of  conviction.  She  was  not 
questioning. 

Joan's  surprise  found  vent  in  a  wondering  interro- 
gation. 

"  Then,  you  have  seen  him  ?    You  know  him  ?  " 

Her  aunt  laughed.  It  was  a  painful,  hideous  laugh, 
suggesting  every  hateful  feeling  rather  than  mirth.  Joan 
was  shocked,  and  vaguely  wondered  when  she  had  ever 
before  heard  her  aunt  laugh. 

"Know  him?  Yes,  I  know  him."  The  laugh  was 
gone  and  a  terrible  look  had  suddenly  replaced  the 
granite  hardness  of  her  eyes.  "  I  have  known  him  all 
my  life.  I  saw  him  only  to-day,  in  the  hills.  He  knew 
me.  Oh,  yes,  he  knew  me,  and  I  knew  him.  We  have 


324  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

reason  to  know  each  other.  But  his  name  is  not  Moreton 
Kenyon.  It  is — Moreton  Bucklaw." 

Joan's  wonder  gave  place  to  alarm  as  the  other's  veno* 
mous  manner  increased.  The  look  in  her  eyes  she 
recognized  as  the  look  she  had  seen  in  the  woman's 
eyes  when  she  had  first  listened  to  the  story  of  her 
childhood. 

"  Moreton  Bucklaw  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Moreton  Bucklaw,"  her  aunt  cried,  with  sudden 
vehemence,  which  seemed  to  grow  with  every  word  she 
spoke.  "  Moreton  Bucklaw.  Do  you  understand  ?  No, 
of  course  you  don't.  So  this  is  your  paragon  of  goodness 
and  wisdom.  This  is  the  man  who  has  told  you  that  your 
fate  only  exists  in  distorted  fancy.  This  is  the  man  who 
is  the  foster-father  of  your  wonderful  Buck,  who  defies 
the  curse  of  disaster  which  dogs  your  feet.  Child,  child, 
you  have  proved  my  words  out  of  your  own  lips.  The 
disaster  you  deny  is  hard  upon  your  heels,  hard  upon  the 
heels  of  this  man  you  love.  Your  own  hand,  the  hand 
even  of  your  lover,  is  in  it.  Was  it  fate  that  brought  you 
here  ?  Was  it  fate  that  you  should  love  this  man  ?  Was 
it  fate  that  made  my  teamster  lose  his  way  and  so  bring 
me  face  to  face  with  this  man,  almost  at  the  door  of  his 
own  home?  Was  it  fate  that  brought  me  here?  Yes, 
yes,  yes  !  I  tell  you  it  was  fate  that  did  all  these  things — 
your  fate.  The  curse  from  which  you  can  never  escape. 
Moreton  Bucklaw  ! "  She  mouthed  the  words  with  in- 
sane glee.  "  It  is  almost  laughable,"  she  cried.  "  You 
have  promised  to  marry  the  foster-son  of  the  man  who  is 
shortly  to  pay  the  penalty  for  the  murder  of — your  father." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A  BLACK  NIGHT 

THE  Padre  sat  staring  into  space  before  the  stove. 
Buck  was  in  his  favorite  position  at  the  open  door,  gaz- 
ing out  into  the  darkness  of  the  night.  As  he  smoked  his 
evening  pipe  he  was  thinking,  as  usual,  of  the  woman 
who  was  never  quite  out  of  his  thoughts.  He  was  in- 
tensely happy  in  the  quiet  fashion  that  was  so  much  a 
part  of  him.  It  seemed  to  him  unbelievable  that  he  could 
have  lived  and  been  content  before  he  met  Joan.  Now 
there  could  be  no  life  without  her,  no  world  even.  She 
pervaded  his  every  sense,  his  whole  being,  with  her  beau- 
tiful presence. 

He  breathed  deeply.  Yes,  it  was  all  very,  very  won- 
derful. Then,  by  degrees,  his  thoughts  ran  on  to  the  ex- 
pected arrival  of  Joan's  relative — that  aunt  whom  he  had 
heard  so  much  about  from  the  Padre.  And  in  a  moment 
an  uneasy  feeling  made  him  shift  his  position.  The 
Padre's  story  was  still  vivid  in  his  mind ;  he  could  never 
forget  it.  Nor  could  he  forget  this  woman's  place  in  it. 
These  thoughts  set  him  speculating  uneasily  as  to  the  pos- 
sible result  of  her  visit. 

He  surreptitiously  glanced  over  at  the  silent  figure  be- 
side the  stove.  The  man's  pipe  was  still  in  his  mouth,  but 
it  had  gone  out.  Also  he  saw,  in  that  quick  glance,  that 
the  fire  in  the  stove  had  fallen  low.  But  he  made  no 
move  to  replenish  it.  The  night  was  very  sultry. 


326  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

He  turned  again  to  his  contemplation  of  the  outer 
world.  The  night  was  black,  jet  black.  There  was  not  a 
star  visible.  The  mountain  air  had  lost  its  cool  snap,  the 
accustomed  rustle  of  the  woods  was  gone.  There  was  a 
tense  stillness  which  jarred  in  an  extraordinary  degree. 

"  A  desperate,  dark  night,"  he  said  suddenly.  He  was 
merely  voicing  his  thought  aloud. 

The  sound  of  his  voice  roused  the  other  from  his 
reverie.  The  Padre  lifted  his  head  and  removed  the  pipe 
from  between  his  teeth. 

"  Yes — and  hot.     Throw  us  your  tobacco." 

Buck  pitched  his  pouch  across,  but  remained  where  he 
was. 

"  Guess  that  leddy's  down  at  the  farm  by  now,"  Buck 
went  on.  "  Joan  was  guessing  she'd  get  around  to-day. 
That's  why  I  didn't  go  along  there." 

"Yes,  she  is  there."  The  Padre  lit  his  pipe  and 
smoked  steadily. 

Buck  turned  quickly. 

"  How  d'you  know  ?  " 

"  I  met  her  on  the  trail.  They  missed  their  way  this 
morning  and  hit  the  trail  below  here,  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps." 

"You  didn't — let  her  see  you?"  Buck  asked,  after  a 
pause. 

The  Padre  smiled. 

"  I  spoke  to  her.     I  put  her  on  the  right  trail." 

"  You  spoke  to  her  ?  "  Buck's  tone  was  half  incredulous. 
"  Did  she — recognize  you  ?  " 

The  other  nodded. 

"  You  see,  I've  not  changed  much — except  for  my 
hair." 


A  BLACK  NIGHT  327 

"  What  did  she  do— say  ?  " 

The  Padre's  smile  remained. 

"  Said — I  should  see  her  again." 

For  some  moments  the  two  men  faced  each  other  across 
the  room.  The  yellow  lamplight  plainly  revealed  their 
different  expressions.  The  Padre's  smile  was  inimitable 
in  its  sphinx-like  obscurity,  but  Buck's  eyes  were  frankly 
troubled. 

"And  that  means?  "     Buck's  question  rang  sharply. 

"  She  has  neither  forgotten  nor — forgiven." 

Buck  returned  abruptly  to  his  contemplation  of  the 
night,  but  his  thoughts  were  no  longer  the  happy  thoughts 
of  the  lover.  Without  knowing  it  he  was  proving  to 
himself  that  there  were  other  things  in  the  world  which 
could  entirely  obscure  the  happy  light  which  the  presence 
of  Joan  shed  upon  his  life. 

The  Padre  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  clasped  his  hands 
behind  his  head,  while  his  pipe  burned  hot  and  the  smoke 
of  it  rose  thickly.  It  was  the  only  outward  sign  he  gave  of 
any  emotion.  Buck  suddenly  forgot  the  night.  A  desper- 
ate thought  was  running  hotly  through  his  brain.  His 
friend's  admission  had  set  his  fertile  young  brain  working 
furiously.  It  was  traveling  just  whither  a  vivid  imagina- 
tion carried  it.  A  reckless  purpose  was  swiftly  formulating. 

After  a  while  he  turned  again.  His  resolve  was  taken 
on  the  impulse  of  the  moment. 

"  Padre,"  he  said,  "  you  shall  never "  But  his 

sentence  remained  incomplete.  He  broke  off,  listening. 

The  other  was  listening  too. 

There  was  the  sharp  cracking  of  a  forest  tree — one  of 
those  mysterious  creakings  which  haunt  the  woodland 
night.  But  there  was  another  °»und  too.  The  trained 


328  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

ears  of  these  men  caught  its  meaning  on  the  instant.  It 
was  the  vague  and  distant  sound  of  wheels  upon  the  soft 
bed  of  the  sandy  trail. 

"  A  heavy  wagon,  an' — two  hosses,"  said  Buck. 

The  Padre  nodded. 

"  Coming  from  the  direction  of  the  farm.  Sounds  like 
the  old  team, — and  they're  being  driven  too  fast  for  heavy 
horses.  Joan  hasn't  got  a  saddle-horse  of  her  own." 

His  last  remark  explained  his  conviction,  and  the  sug- 
gestion found  concurrence  in  Buck's  mind. 

They  waited,  and  the  sound  grew  louder.  Then,  with- 
out a  word,  Buck  passed  out  of  the  room. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  rumble  of  wheels  ceased,  and 
the  Padre  heard  Buck's  voice  greeting  Joan. 

A  tragic  light  shone  in  Joan's  eyes  as  she  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  room  glancing  from  her  lover  to  his  friend. 
She  was  searching  for  an  opening  for  what  she  had  come 
to  say.  Her  distraught  brain  was  overwhelmed  with 
thoughts  she  could  not  put  into  words.  She  had  driven 
over  with  the  heavy  team  and  wagon  because  she  had  no 
other  means  of  reaching  these  two,  and  unless  she  reached 
them  to-night  she  felt  that  by  morning  her  sanity  must  be 
gone.  Now — now — she  stood  speechless  before  them, 
Now,  her  brain  refused  to  prompt  her  tongue.  All  was 
chaos  in  her  mind,  and  her  eyes  alone  warned  the  men  of 
the  object  of  her  coming. 

It  was  the  Padre's  voice  that  finally  guided  her.  He 
read  without  hesitation  or  doubt  the  object  of  her  mission. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  am  Moreton  Bucklaw,  the 
man  accused  of  your  father's  murder." 

Suddenly  the  girl's  head  drooped  forward,  and  her  hands 


A  BLACK  NIGHT  329 

covered  her  face  as  though  to  shut  out  the  terrible  truth 
which  the  man's  words  conveyed. 
"  O  God !  "  she  cried.     "  Then  she  was  not  lying  to 


me." 


Buck's  eyes,  fierce,  almost  savage  at  the  sight  of  the 
girl's  despair,  shot  a  swift  glance  at  his  friend.  It  was  a 
glance  which  only  the  white-haired  man  could  have  un- 
derstood. To  the  looker-on  it  would  have  expressed  a 
terrible  threat.  To  the  Padre  it  was  the  expression  of  a 
heart  torn  to  shreds  between  love  and  friendship. 

"  If  she  told  you  I  killed  him — she  was  lying." 

The  man  had  not  raised  his  tone.  There  was  no  other 
emotion  in  his  manner  than  distress  for  the  girl's  suffering. 

Joan  looked  up,  and  a  gleam  of  hope  struggled  through 
her  despair. 

"  Then  it's  not  true  ?  Oh,  I  knew  it— I  knew  it !  She 
was  lying  to  me.  She  was  lying  to  me  as  she  has  always 
lied  to  me.  Oh,  thank  God,  thank  God  ! "  She  dropped 
back  into  the  chair  that  had  been  placed  for  her,  but 
which  up  to  that  moment  she  had  ignored. 

The  two  men  waited  for  her  emotion  to  pass.  Buck  as 
yet  had  nothing  to  say.  And  the  Padre  knew  that  until 
she  was  mistress  of  herself  words  would  only  be  wasted. 

Presently  she  looked  up.  Her  eyes  were  dry,  and  the 
agony  that  had  sent  her  upon  her  headlong  mission  was 
passing.  The  Padre's  relief  showed  in  the  smile  with 
which  he  met  her  glance.  Buck  stood  steadily  regarding 
her,  longing  to  help  her,  but  knowing  that  his  time  had 
not  come  yet. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  struggling  hard  for  steadiness. 
"  Tell  me  all — for  I — I  cannot  seem  to  understand  any- 
thing." 


330  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

The  Padre  bowed  his  head. 

"  You  know  your  own  story.  It  is  all  substantially  true 
that  Mercy  Lascelles  has  told  you.  All,  that  is,  except 
that  she  claims  I  killed  your  father.  She  did  not  see  your 
father  die.  I  did.  I  was  the  only  one  who  saw  him  die — - 
by  his  own  hand,  a  desperate  and  ruined  man.  Listen, 
and  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story  without  concealing  one 
tittle  of  my  own  doings  and  motives." 

Half  an  hour  passed  while  the  man's  even  voice  recited 
without  emotion  all  the  details  leading  up  to  Charles 
Stanmore's  death.  He  kept  nothing  back — his  own  love 
for  the  then  handsome  Mercy,  and  the  passionate  insult 
he  had  offered  her,  when,  in  her  love  for  the  dead  man, 
she  became  his  housekeeper.  He  intended  that,  for 
Buck's  sake,  this  girl  should  know  everything,  nor  had  he 
the  least  desire  for  any  concealment  on  personal  account. 
He  did  not  spare  his  own  folly  and  the  cowardice  of  his 
flight.  He  felt  that  concealment  of  any  sort  could  only 
injure  Buck,  whom  at  all  costs  he  must  not  hurt.  He 
even  analyzed,  with  all  the  logic  at  his  command,  Mercy 
Lascelles'  motives  in  accusing  him.  He  declared  his  be- 
lief in  her  desire  to  marry  the  widowed  man  and  her  own 
consequent  hatred  of  himself,  whose  presence  was  a  con- 
stant thwart  to  her  plans. 

And  when  he  had  finished  something  of  the  trouble  had 
passed  out  of  the  girl's  eyes.  The  color  had  returned  to 
her  cheeks,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  achieved  his  purpose, 

"  I  suppose  it  is  terrible  to  you,  child,  to  hear  me  speak 
of  your  aunt,  one  of  your  own  sex,  a  blood  relative,  in 
this  way,"  he  said  in  conclusion.  "  But  I  believe  that  she 
is  absolutely  mad  in  her  hatred  of  me.  And  now  that  she 
nas  discovered  my  whereabouts  nothing  less  will  satisfy 


A  BLACK  NIGHT  331 

her  than  that  I  must  stand  my  trial,  and — go  to  the  elec- 
tric chair.  It  is  my  purpose  to  stand  my  trial.  It  was 
for  that  reason,  when  I  recognized  her  this  morning,  be- 
fore she  even  saw  me,  I  purposely  thrust  myself  in  her 
way.  I  intended  that  she  should  not  lack  opportunity, 
and  my  reason — well,  that  doesn't  much  matter." 

The  girl  nodded. 

"  I  think  I  am  glad  of  your  decision,"  she  said  simply. 
"  You  see,  when  you  have  established  your  innocence " 

"  I  fear  that  result  is — doubtful." 

The  man's  admission  was  quite  frank.  Nor  was  there 
even  a  suggestion  of  regret  in  his  voice.  But  Joan's  heart 
gripped  with  alarm.  The  thought  of  such  a  contingency 
had  never  occurred  to  her  simple  mind.  He  had  not 
committed  murder.  Then,  of  course,  he  was  innocent. 
It  had  all  been  made  so  simple.  Now — now  she  was  sud- 
denly overwhelmed  with  a  new  terror. 

"  You  mean— you  cannot  prove — your  innocence  ?  "  she 
cried  incredulously,, 

"  You  forget  I  was  the  only  man  with  him.  I  was  the 
last  person  with  him.  And — I  fled  when  I  should  have 
stayed  to — help.  The  circumstances  are  terribly  against 
me." 

Joan's  throat  had  suddenly  parched.  She  struggled  to 
speak,  but  no  sound  came.  She  looked  to  Buck  for  help 
and  the  man  ran  to  her  side. 

The  gentle  pressure  of  his  protecting  arm,  as  he  rested 
one  caressing  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  gave  her  the  relief 
she  needed. 

"  Oh,  Buck,  Buck  !  For  the  love  of  Heaven  say  some- 
thing— do  something,"  she  appealed.  "They  will  kill 
him  for  a  crime — of  which  he  is  innocent." 


332  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Suddenly  the  Padre's  eyes  glowed  with  a  strange  light 
of  happiness.  The  girl's  appeal  to  Buck  had  been  the  one 
saving  touch  in  the  midst  of  the  cloud  of  tribulation  over- 
shadowing him.  The  daughter  of  his  best  friend,  the 
daughter  of  the  man  he  was  supposed  to  have  done  to 
death,  had  given  her  verdict.  She  believed  in  his  inno- 
cence. He  sighed  with  the  depth  of  his  thankfulness. 
He  could  now  face  whatever  lay  before  him  with  perfect 
equanimityc 

But  Buck  had  yet  to  play  his  part  in  the  little  drama  so 
swiftly  working  itself  out.  His  part  was  far  different  to 
the  passive  attitude  of  the  other  man.  He  had  no  toler- 
ance for  the  possible  sacrifice  of  an  innocent  life  at  the  de- 
mand of  a  crazy  woman  who  had  come  so  nearly  wreck- 
ing the  life  of  the  girl  he  loved.  As  Joan  appealed  to  him 
his  eyes  lit  with  a  sudden  fire  of  rebellion.  And  his  an- 
swer came  in  a  hot  rush. 

"  You  think  I'm  goin'  to  let  him  die,  Joan  ?  "  he  cried, 
the  hot  blood  staining  his  cheeks  and  brow.  "  I  tell  you 
he  won't.  I  swear  to  you,  sure,  sure,  he  shan't  die  a 
murderer's  death  !  I  tell  you  right  here,  little  gal,  ther* 
ain't  a  sheriff  in  the  country  big  enough  to  take  him.  He 
says  he  must  give  up  to  arrest  when  the  time  comes. 
Wai,  he'll  have  to  do  it  over  my  dead  body." 

His  words  were  in  answer  to  Joan's  appeal,  but  they 
were  hurled  at  the  man  beside  the  fire,  and  were  a  de- 
fiance and  a  challenge  from  the  depths  of  a  loyal  heart. 

The  Padre's  smile  was  good  to  see.  But  he  shook  his 
head.  And  instantly  Joan  caught  at  the  enthusiasm 
which  stirred  her  lover  and  hugged  it  to  herself.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  a  wonderful  light  shone  in  her  eyes 

"  Buck  is  right,  Padre.     He  is  right,"  she  cried.     "  Do 


A  BLACK  NIGHT  333 

you  hear  ?  You  shall  not  take  the  risk,  you  must  not. 
Oh,  Padre  !  you  must  live  for  our  sakes.  We  know  your 
innocence,  then  what  more  is  needed  after  all  these  years  ? 
For  once  let  us  be  your  mentors — you  who  have  always 
been  the  mentor  of  others.  Padre,  Padre,  you  owe  this 
to  us.  Think  of  it  1  Think  of  what  it  would  mean.  A 
murderer's  death  !  You  shall  not,  you  cannot  give  your- 
self up.  Buck  is  right.  I,  too,  am  with  him." 

She  turned  to  the  man  at  her  side,  and,  raising  her 
arms,  clasped  her  hands  about  his  neck. 

"  Buck — my  Buck.  Let  us  swear  together  that,  while 
we  have  life,  he  shall  never  be  the  victim  of  this  crazy, 
terrible  woman.  It  shall  be  our  fight — yours  and  mine." 

Buck  gazed  down  into  her  beautiful,  pleading  eyes  as 
he  clasped  her  slim  body  in  his  strong,  young  arms.  Her 
eyes  were  alight  with  a  love,  radiant  in  its  supremacy 
over  her  whole  being.  Her  championship  of  his  innocent 
friend  would  have  endeared  her  a  thousandfold  had  such 
a  thing  been  possible.  In  that  moment  it  was  as  though 
her  courage,  her  loyalty,  had  completed  the  bond  between 
them.  His  jaws  gritted  tight.  His  eyes  shone  with  a 
fervent  resolution. 

"It  goes,  little  gal,"  he  cried.     "  It's  our  lives  for  his 
It  sure  goes — every  time." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

BEASLEY    IN  HIS  ELEMENT 

THE  camp  was  sweltering  under  an  abnormal  heat. 
There  was  not  one  breath  of  the  usual  invigorating  moun- 
tain air.  A  few  more  degrees  of  humidity,  and  the  cup 
of  endurance  would  have  been  filled  to  overflowing  and 
toiling  humanity  breathing  something  like  sheer  moisture. 
The  sky  was  heavy  and  gray,  and  a  dull  sun,  as  though 
it  too  had  been  rendered  faint-hearted,  was  painfully 
struggling  against  the  laden  atmosphere. 

The  work  of  the  camp  went  on.  For  hours  human  na- 
ture wrestled  with  a  growing  inertia  which  robbed  effort 
of  all  snap.  But  gradually,  as  the  day  wore  on,  the  morn- 
ing impetus  gave  way,  and  peevish  tongues  voiced  the 
general  plaint.  Men  moved  about  slowly,  their  tongues 
actively  cursing.  They  cursed  the  heat  as  they  mopped 
their  dripping  brows.  They  cursed  the  flies,  and  hurled 
mighty  blows  for  their  destruction.  They  cursed  all  work, 
and  gold  became  the  last  thing  in  the  world  they  desired 
at  such  a  price.  They  cursed  the  camp,  the  country,  but 
more  than  all  they  cursed  the  black  hill  from  which  they 
drew  their  living. 

Then  came  acknowledgment  of  defeat.  One  by  one  at 
first,  and  finally  in  batches,  they  shouldered  their  tools  and 
moodily  withdrew  from  the  attack.  As  they  went  weary 
eyes  glanced  back  with  hate  and  disgust  at  the  frowning 
buttresses  of  the  hill,  with  awe  at  the  steaming  cloud  hang- 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  335 

ing  above  the  simmering  waters  of  the  suspended  lake. 
The  depressing  shadow  of  Devil's  Hill  had  for  the  mo- 
ment become  intolerable. 

Beasley  hated  the  heat  just  as  cordially  as  these  toilers, 
but  he  would  have  hated  still  more  its  sudden  going,  and 
the  consequent  appeasement  of  unnatural  thirsts,  which  it 
was  his  pleasure  and  profit  to  slake.  His  own  feelings 
were  at  all  times  subservient  to  his  business  instincts. 
This  sudden,  unaccountable  heat  meant  added  profit  to 
him,  therefore  his  complaint  was  half-hearted.  It  was  al- 
most as  if  he  feared  to  give  offense  to  the  gods  of  his  good 
fortune. 

Then,  too,  Beasley  had  so  many  things  to  occupy  his 
busy  brain.  His  trade  was  one  that  required  much  schem- 
ing, a  matter  in  which  he  reveled  at  all  times.  Problems 
of  self-interest  were  his  salt  of  life,  and  their  accurate  so- 
lution brought  him  as  near  earthly  happiness  as  well  could 
be. 

Curiously  enough  problems  were  always  coming  his 
way.  He  chanced  upon  one  that  morning  while  busy  in 
his  storeroom,  his  attention  divided  between  pricing  and 
stacking  new  dry  goods  and  smashing  flies  on  the  back  of 
his  super-heated  neck.  And  it  served  him  with  food  for 
thought  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

It  took  him  quite  unawares,  and  for  that  very  reason 
gave  him  ample  satisfaction.  He  was  bending  over  a  pile 
of  rolls  of  fabric  when  a  voice  suddenly  hailed  him  from 
the  doorway. 

"  Are  you  the  proprietor  of  the  livery  stables  ?  " 

He  turned  about  with  a  start.  Such  a  question  in  that 
camp  seemed  superfluous.  It  was  absurd.  He  looked 
up,  and  his  astonished  eyes  fell  upon  the  vision  of  an  ex- 


336  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

tremely  well-dressed,  refined-looking  woman  whom  he 
judged  to  be  anything  over  fifty.  But  what  held  his  at- 
tention most  was  the  lean,  emaciated  face  and  penetrating 
eyes.  There  was  something  of  the  witch  about  it,  as  there 
was  about  the  bowed  figure.  But  more  than  all  she  was 
a  stranger. 

He  admitted  the  impeachment  in  the  midst  of  his  as- 
tonishment with  an  abruptness  equal  to  her  own. 

"  Sure,"  he  said,  and  waited. 

"  Where  will  I  find  the  sheriff  of  this  place  ?  " 

Beasley's  eyes  opened  wider. 

"  Guess  ther'  ain't  no  sheriff  in  this  camp." 

The  woman's  next  words  came  impatiently. 

"  Why  isn't  there  ?     Is  there  a  lawyer  ?  " 

Beasley  grinned.  His  astonishment  was  giving  place 
to  curiosity  and  speculation.  He  tapped  the  revolver  at 
his  hip. 

"We're  mostly  our  own  lawyers  around  here,"  he  said 
easily. 

But  the  woman  ignored  his  levity. 

"  Where  can  I  find  one — a  lawyer,  or  sheriff  ?  "  she 
demanded  with  an  added  imperiousness. 

"  Guess  Leeson  Butte's  nearest." 

The  stranger  considered  a  moment.  Beasley's  eyes 
never  left  her.  He  had  noticed  the  refinement  of  her  ac- 
cent, and  wondered  the  more. 

"How  can  I  get  there — best?"  the  woman  next  de- 
manded. 

"  Guess  I  ken  let  you  have  a  team,"  Beasley  said  with 
alacrity.  He  smelt  good  business. 

"How  much?" 

"  Fifty  dollars.     In  an'  out — with  teamster." 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  337 

"  Does  he  know  the  way  ?" 

"  Sure." 

The  woman  eyed  him  steadily. 

"  I  don't  want  any  mistakes.  This — is  a  case  of  mur- 
der." 

Beasley's  interest  suddenly  redoubled.  The  problem 
was  growing  in  its  attractiveness. 

"  Who's  the  feller  ?  "  he  asked  unguardedly. 

"  That's  not  your  business."  The  woman's  eyes  were 
cold.  "  Send  the  team  over  to  the  farm  down  the  river 
in  two  hours'  time.  The  horses  must  be  able  to  travel 
fast.  Here's  the  money." 

The  saloon-keeper  took  the  money  promptly.  But  for 
once  his  astonishment  held  him  silent.  Mercy  Lascelles 
had  reached  the  door  to  go.  Then  she  seemed  to  change 
her  mind.  She  paused. 

"  There's  fifty  dollars  more  when  I  get  back — if  you 
keep  your  tongue  quiet,"  she  said  warningly.  "  I  don't 
want  my  business  to  get  around.  I  should  say  gossip 
travels  fast  amongst  the  hills.  That's  what  I  don't  want." 

"  I  see." 

It  was  all  the  astonished  man  could  think  of  to  say  at 
the  moment.  But  he  managed  an  abundant  wink  in  a 
markedly  friendly  way. 

His  wink  missed  fire,  however,  for  the  woman  had  de- 
parted ;  and  by  the  time  he  reached  the  door  to  look  after 
her  he  saw  her  mounting  the  wagon,  which  was  drawn  by 
the  heavy  team  from  Joan's  farm,  and  driven  by  her  hired 
man. 

As  the  stranger  drove  off  he  leant  against  the  doorway 
and  emitted  a  low  whistle.  In  his  own  phraseology  he 
was  "  beat,"  completely  and  utterly  "  beat." 


338  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

But  this  state  of  things  could  not  last  long.  His  fertile 
brain  could  not  long  remain  under  such  a  cloud  of  aston- 
ished confusion.  He  must  sort  out  the  facts  and  piece 
them  together.  This  he  set  to  work  on  at  once. 

Abandoning  his  work  in  the  storeroom  he  went  at  once 
to  the  barn,  and  gave  orders  for  the  dispatch  of  the  team. 
And  herein,  for  once,  he  traded  honestly  with  his  visitor. 
He  ordered  his  very  best  team  to  be  sent.  Perhaps  it  was 
in  acknowledgment  of  the  problem  she  had  offered  him. 

Then  he  questioned  his  helpers.  Here  he  was  abso- 
lutely despotic.  And  in  less  than  half  an  hour  he  had  as- 
certained several  important  facts.  He  learned  that  a  team 
had  come  in  from  Crowsfoot  the  previous  afternoon, 
bringing  a  passenger  for  the  farm.  The  team  had  re- 
mained at  the  farm,  likewise  the  teamster.  Only  the  fact 
that  daylight  that  morning  had  brought  the  man  into 
camp  for  a  supply  of  fodder  and  provisions  had  supplied 
them  with  the  news  of  his  presence  in  the  district.  This 
had  happened  before  Beasley  was  up. 

With  this  Beasley  went  back  to  the  saloon,  where  his 
dinner  was  served  him  in  the  bar.  His  bartender  was 
taking  an  afternoon  off.  It  was  a  thoughtful  meal.  The 
man  ate  noisily  with  the  aid  of  both  knife  and  fork.  He 
had  acquired  all  the  habits  of  the  class  he  had  so  long 
mixed  with.  Nor  was  it  until  his  plate  of  meat  and  canned 
vegetables  had  nearly  disappeared  that  light  began  to 
creep  into  his  clouded  brain. 

He  remembered  that  Joan  had  refurnished  the  farm. 
Why  ?  Because  some  one  from  the  East,  no  doubt,  was 
coming  to  stay  with  her.  Who  ?  Mother  ?  Aunt  ? 
Cousin  ?  Female  anyway.  Female  arrives.  Queer- 
looking  female.  Goes  to  farm.  Stays  one  night.  Comes 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  339 

looking  for  sheriff  next  morning.  A  case  of  murder.  No 
murder  been  done  around  here.  Where?  East?  Yes. 
Then  there's  some  one  here  she's  found — or  she  knows  is 
here — and  he's  wanted  for  murder.  Who  ? 

At  this  point  Beasley  grinned.  How  many  might  there 
not  be  on  Yellow  Creek  who  could  be  so  charged  ? 

But  his  shrewd  mind  was  very  quick.  This  woman  had 
not  been  into  camp  until  she  visited  him.  Where  had  she 
been  ?  In  the  hills — coming  from  Crowsfoot.  Still  she 
might  have  been  aware  of  the  presence  of  her  man  before 
she  came — through  Joan. 

For  a  moment  he  was  disappointed. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  He  quickly  brightened 
up.  A  new  idea  had  occurred  to  him  which  narrowed  his 
field  of  possibilities.  This  woman  was  educated,  she  be- 
longed to  a  class  he  had  once  known  himself.  She  would 
know  nothing  of  the  riffraff  of  this  camp.  It  must  be 
somebody  of  the  same  class,  or  near  it,  somebody  of  edu- 
cation   He  drew  a  sharp  breath,  and  his  wicked 

eyes  lit. 

The  wildest,  the  most  impossible  thought  had  occurred 
to  him.  He  pondered  long  upon  the  passage  of  the  trail 
from  Crowsfoot  to  the  farm.  He  remembered  how  she  did 
not  desire  the  "  gossip  "  to  travel — especially  to  the  hills. 

Suddenly  he  hailed  his  Chinese  cook  and  flung  his  knife 
and  fork  down  upon  his  plate.  In  his  elation  he  forgot 
the  heat,  the  sticky  flies.  He  forgot  his  usual  custom  of 
abstention  during  the  day.  He  poured  himself  out  a  long 
drink  of  really  good  whisky,  which  he  gulped  down, 
smacking  his  lips  with  appreciation  before  flinging  his 
customary  curse  at  the  head  of  his  Mongolian  servitor. 

He  had  never  had  such  a  morning  in  his  life. 


340  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Two  of  the  boys  came  in  for  a  drink.  Such  was  his 
mood  that  he  upset  their  whole  focus  of  things  by  insist- 
ing that  they  have  it  at  his  expense.  And  when  a  third 
came  along  with  a  small  parcel  of  gold  dust  he  bought  it 
at  its  full  value. 

These  were  significant  signs.  Beasley  Melford  was  in  a 
generous  mood.  And  such  a  mood  in  such  a  man  required 
a  lot  of  inspiration. 

But  it  was  not  likely  to  continue  for  long.  And  surely 
enough  it  quickly  reached  its  limit,  and  resolved  itself 
into  his  every-day  attitude,  plus  a  desire  to  make  up,  at 
the  first  opportunity,  the  losses  incurred  by  his  moments 
of  weak  generosity. 

The  heat  of  the  day  soon  afforded  him  his  desire,  for 
the  limp  and  sweating  miners  straggled  back  into  camp 
long  before  their  usual  working  day  was  ended.  And 
what  is  more,  they  came  to  seek  solace  and  refreshment 
under  his  willing  roof. 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  bar  was  fairly  well 
filled.  The  place  was  little  better  than  a  furnace  of  humid 
heat.  But  under  the  influence  of  heartening  spirits  the 
temperature  passed  almost  unnoticed,  or  at  least  uncared. 
Here  at  least  the  weary  creatures  were  called  upon  for  no 
greater  effort  than  to  deal  cards,  or  raise  a  glass  to  their 
lips  and  hold  it  there  until  drained.  They  could  stand 
any  heat  in  the  pursuit  of  such  pastimes 

Beasley  watched  his  customers  closely.  Three  tables  of 
poker  were  going,  and  from  each  he  drew  a  percentage 
for  the  "  chips "  sold  at  the  bar.  Each  table  was  well 
supplied  with  drinks.  A  group  of  five  men  occupied  one 
end  of  the  counter,  and  two  smaller  groups  were  farther 
along.  They  were  all  drinking  with  sufficient  regularity 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  341 

to  suit  his  purposes.  Amongst  the  crowd  gathered  he 
noticed  many  of  the  men  of  the  original  camp.  There 
was  Curly  Saunders  and  Slaney  at  one  poker  table  with 
Diamond  Jack.  Abe  Allinson  was  in  close  talk  with  two 
financial  "  sharps  "  from  Leeson,  at  the  bar.  The  Kid  was 
with  a  number  of  new  hands  who  had  only  just  come  in 
to  try  their  luck.  He  was  endeavoring  to  sell  a  small 
share  of  his  claim  at  a  large  price.  Two  others  were  with 
the  larger  group  at  the  bar,  discussing  "  outputs  "  and  new 
methods  of  washing  gold.  It  was  a  mixed  collection  of 
humanity,  but  there  were  sufficient  of  the  original  mem- 
bers of  the  camp  to  suit  him. 

In  a  lull  in  the  talk,  when  for  a  moment  only  the  click 
of  poker  "  chips  "  and  the  shuffle  of  cards  broke  the  silence, 
Beasley  propped  himself  against  his  counter  and,  for  once, 
paused  from  his  everlasting  habit  of  glass  wiping. 

"  Guess  none  o'  you  heard  the  news  ? "  he  inquired, 
with  a  grin  of  anticipation. 

His  first  effort  failed  to  produce  the  effect  he  desired,  so 
a  repetition  followed  quickly.  For  a  moment  play  was 
suspended  at  one  of  the  tables,  and  the  men  looked  up. 

"  Noos  ?  "  inquired  Diamond  Jack. 

The  Kid  and  his  youthful  companions  looked  round  at 
the  foxy  face  of  their  host. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  guess  it's  nuthin',"  said  Beasley. 
"  Only — it's  so  dogone  queer." 

His  manner  was  well  calculated.  His  final  remark 
drew  the  entire  barroom.  All  play  and  all  talk  was 
abruptly  held  up. 

"  Wot's  queer  ?  "  demanded  Diamond  Jack,  while  all 
eyes  searched  the  saloon-keeper's  sharp  face. 

Beasley  bit  the  end  off  a  green  cigar. 


342  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"That's  just  it,"  he  said.  "Ther's  suthin'  I  can't  jest 

make  out.  Say "  he  paused  while  he  lit  his  cigar 

with  a  sulphur  match.  "  Any  you  fellers  heard  of  a 
murder  around  here  lately  ?  Can't  say  I  have." 

He  puffed  leisurely  at  his  cigar.  The  scattered  groups 
at  the  bar  drew  closer.  There  was  no  question  but  he  now 
had  the  attention  he  desired.  The  blank  negative  on  the 
faces  about  him  gave  him  his  answer. 

"  Sure,"  he  observed  thoughtfully.  "  That's  wher'  I'm 
beat.  But — ther's  sure  murder  been  done,  an'  ther's  goin' 
to  be  a  big  doin*  around — in  consequence.  Ther's  word 
gone  in  to  the  sheriff  at  Leeson,  an'  the  law  fellers  o'  that 
city  is  raisin'  a  mighty  business  to  get  warrants  signed. 
Say,  I  heerd  they're  sendin'  a  dozen  dep'ties  to  hunt  these 
hills.  Seems  to  me  the  guy  whoever  it  is  is  a  pretty  hot 
tough,  an'  he's  livin'  in  the  hills.  I  heard  more  than  that 
I  heard  the  murder  was  a  low-down  racket  that  if  folks 
knew  about  it  they'd  be  right  out  fer  lynchin'  this  guy. 
That's  why  it's  bin  kep'  quiet.  I  bin  goin'  over  the  folks 
in  my  mind  to  locate  the — murderer.  But  it's  got  me 
beat." 

"  Ther'  ain't  bin  no  murder  since  the  camp  got  boom- 
in',"  said  Abe  Allinson  thoughtfully,  "  'cept  you  reckon 
that  racket  of  Ike  an'  Pete's." 

Beasley  shook  his  head. 

"  'Tain't  that.  That  was  jest  clear  shootin'.  Though 
it's  queer  you  mention  that.  Say,  this  racket's  got  some- 
thin'  to  do  with  that  farm.  It's  mighty  queer  about  that 
farm.  That  gal's  brought  a  heap  of  mischief.  She  sure 
is  an  all-fired  Jonah." 

"  But  what's  she  to  do  wi'  this  new  racket  ?  "  inquired 
Slaney. 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  343 

Beasley  shook  his  head. 

"  You  got  me  beat  again.  The  sheriff's  comin'  right 
out  to  that  farm,  chasin'  some  feller  for  murder.  Ther's 
the  fact — plain  fact.  He's  comin'  to  that  farm — which 
shows  that  gal  is  mussed-up  with  the  racket  some  ways. 
Now  I  tho't  a  heap  on  this  thing.  An'  I'm  guessin'  this 
murder  must  have  been  done  back  East.  Y'  see  that  gal 
^omes  from  back  East.  *  Wai,  now,'  says  1,  '  how  do  we 
whape  then  ?  '  Why,  that  gal — that  Jonah  gal — comes 
right  here  an'  locates  some  feller  who's  done  murder  back 
East.  Who  is  it  ?  I  gone  over  every  feller  in  this  yer 
camp,  an'  'most  all  are  pretty  clear  accounted  for.  Then 
from  what  I  hear  the  sheriff's  posse  is  to  work  the  hills. 
Who  is  ther'  in  the  hills  ?  " 

Beasley  paused  for  effect.  His  purpose  was  rapidly 
becoming  evident.  He  glanced  over  the  faces  about  him, 
and  knew  that  the  same  thought  was  in  each  mind. 

He  laughed  as  though  an  absurd  thought  had  passed 
through  his  mind. 

"  Course,"  he  exclaimed,  "  it's  durned  ridic'lous.  Ther's 
two  fellers  we  know  livin'  in  the  hills.  Jest  two.  Ther's 
Buck  an' — the  Padre.  Buck's  bin  around  this  creek  ever 
since  he  was  raised.  I  ain't  no  use  for  Buck.  He's  kind 
o'  white  livered,  but  he's  a  straight  citizen.  Then  the 
Padre,"  he  laughed  again,  "  he's  too  good.  Say,  he's 
next  best  to  a  passon.  So  it  can't  be  him." 

He  waited  for  concurrence,  and  it  came  at  once. 

"  I'll  swar'  it  ain't  the  Padre,"  cried  Curly  warmly. 

"  It  sure  ain't,"  agreed  Slaney,  shaking  his  serious  head 

"The  Padre?"  cried  Abe,  with  a  scornful  laugh. 
"  Why,  I'd  sooner  guess  it's  me." 

Beasley  nodded 


344  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"You're  dead  right  ther',  boys,"  he  said,  with  hearty 
good-will.  "  It  sure  ain't  the  Padre.  He's  got  religion, 
an'  though  I'm  'most  allus  curious  'bout  folks  with  religion 
— it  ain't  right  to  say  theirs  any  queer  reason  fer  'em  get- 
tin'  it.  Then  the  Padre's  bin  here  nigh  twenty  years. 
Jest  fancy !  A  feller  of  his  eddication  chasm'  around 
these  hills  fer  twenty  years  !  It's  easy  fer  a  feller  raised 
to  'em,  like  Buck.  But  when  you've  been  a  feller  in  a 
swell  position  East,  to  come  an'  hunt  your  hole  in  these 
hills  fer  twenty  years,  why,  it's — it's  astonishin'.  Still,  that 
don't  make  no  diff'rence.  It  can't  be  the  Padre.  He's 
got  his  reasons  fer  stayin'  around  here.  Wai,  nigh  all  of 
us  has  got  reasons  fer  bein'  here.  An'  it  ain't  fer  us  to 
ask  why.  No,  though  I  don't  usually  trust  folks  who  get 
religion  sudden,  I  ain't  goin'  agin  the  Padre.  He's  a 
white  man,  sure." 

"  The  whitest  around  here,"  cried  Curly.  He  eyed 
Beasley  steadily.  "  Say,  you,"  he  went  on  suspiciously, 
"  who  give  you  all  this  ?  " 

It  was  the  question  Beasley  had  been  waiting  for.  But 
he  would  rather  have  had  it  from  some  one  else.  He 
twisted  his  cigar  across  his  lips  and  spat  a  piece  of  to- 
bacco leaf  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Wai,"  he  began  deliberately,  "  I  don't  guess  it's  good 
med'cine  talkin'  names.  But  I  don't  mind  savin'  right 
here  this  thing's  made  me  feel  mean.  The  story's  come 
straight  from  that — that — Jonah  gal's  farm.  Yep,  it 
makes  me  feel  mean.  Ther's  nothin'  but  trouble  about 
that  place  now — 'bout  her.  I  ain't  got  over  Ike  and  Pete. 
Wai,  I  don't  guess  we'll  get  to  the  rights  of  that  now. 
They  wer'  two  bright  boys.  Here  are  us  fellers  runnin' 
this  camp  fer  all  we  know,  all  good  citizens,  mind,  an'  ther' 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  345 

ain't  nothin'  amiss.  We  ke'p  the  place  good  an'  clean  of 
rackets.  We're  goin'  to  boom  into  a  big  concern,  an' 
we're  goin'  to  make  our  piles — clean.  An'  we  got  to  put 
up  with  the  wust  sort  of  mischief — from  this  farm.  It 
ain't  right  It  ain't  a  square  shake  by  a  sight.  I  sez 
when  ther's  Jonahs  about  they  need  to  be  put  right  out. 
An'  mark  you,  that  gal,  an'  that  farm  are  Jonahs.  Now 
we  got  this  sheriff  feller  comin'  around  with  his  dep'ties 
chasin'  glory  after  a  crook.  He'll  get  his  nose  into  every- 
body. An'  sheriffs'  noses  is  quick  at  gettin'  a  nasty  smell. 
I  ain't  sayin'  a  thing  about  any  citizen  in  this  place — but 
I  don't  guess  any  of  us  has  store  halos  about  us,  an'  halos 
is  the  only  things' 11  keep  any  feller  safe  when  sheriffs  get 
around." 

A  murmur  of  approval  greeted  his  argument.  Few  of 
the  men  in  the  camp  desired  the  presence  of  a  sheriff  in 
their  midst.  There  were  few  enough  among  them  who 
would  care  to  have  the  ashes  of  their  past  disturbed  by 
any  law  officer.  Beasley  had  struck  the  right  note  for  his 
purpose. 

"  How'd  you  put  this  Jonah  out,  Beasley?"  cried  Dia- 
mond Jack. 

Beasley  thought  for  a  moment. 

"How'd  I  put  her  out?"  he  said  at  last.  "That's 
askin'  some.  How'd  I  put  her  out?  Say,"  his  face 
flushed,  and  his  eyes  sparkled,  "  ef  I  had  my  way  I'd  burn 
every  stick  o'  that  dogone  farm.  Then  she'd  light  out. 
That's  what  I'd  do.  I  ain't  got  no  use  for  Jonahs.  An' 
I  say  right  here  I'd  give  five  hundred  dollars  to  see  her 
back  turned  on  this  place.  I  tell  you,  boys,  an'  I'm 
speakin'  for  your  good,  an'  mine,  if  she  stops  around  here 
we're  goin'  to  get  it — we'll  get  it  good.  The  Lord  knows 


346  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

how  it's  goin'  to  come.  But  it's  comin',  I  feel  it  in  my 
bones.  It's  comin'  as  sure  as  my  name's  Beasley." 

He  threw  such  a  sincerity  and  earnestness  into  his  man- 
ner that  he  made  a  marked  impression.  Even  Curly 
Saunders,  who,  with  one  or  two  of  the  older  hands,  had 
some  sort  of  regard  for  the  girl  they  believed  had  founded 
their  fortunes,  was  not  quite  without  doubts.  There  was 
no  question  but  mischief  did  seem  to  hang  about  the 
farm.  Ike  and  Pete  had  been  popular  enough.  The 
newer  people  had  no  sentiment  on  the  matter,  but  they 
listened  with  interest  to  the  saloon-keeper,  feeling  that  his 
was  the  voice  of  the  leading  citizen.  Besides,  the  matter 
of  the  sheriffs  coming  was  not  pleasant.  Many  had  spent 
a  great  part  of  their  lives  avoiding  such  contact. 

"  Seems  to  me  you're  forgettin'  that  gal  brought  us  our 
luck,"  the  Kid  suggested  impulsively.  "  You  were  ther' 
when  we  handed  her  the " 

"  Death's-head,"  laughed  Beasley.  Then  his  face  hard- 
ened. "  Tcha !  "  he  cried  with  some  heat.  "  You  make 
me  sick.  I  told  you  then,  as  I  tell  you  now,  it  was  that 
storm  brought  us  our  luck,  an'  it  brought  us  our  Jonah 
with  it.  If  you'd  got  a  cent's  worth  of  grit  that  gal  'ud 
go.  We  don't  wish  her  harm.  I  ain't  one  to  wish  a  gal 
harm.  But  go  she  must  if  we  want  to  be  quit  of  trouble. 
Still,  I'm  on'y  just  sayin'  what  I  feel.  It  don't  matter  a 
heap.  Ther's  the  sheriff  comin'  along  to  grab  some  one 
for  murder.  Maybe  he'll  chase  up  a  few  other  rackets  to 
fill  in  his  time.  It's  things  of  that  nature  do  matter.  He's 
got  to  git  some  one.  Maybe  it's  some  one  in  the  hills. 
Maybe  it  ain't.  Maybe — wal,  I  sure  do  hope  it  ain't — the 
Padre." 

He  laughed  as  he  turned  to  attend  the  wants  of  some 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  347 

fresh  customers  who  entered  the  bar  at  that  moment.  The 
malice  underlying  his  jest  must  have  been  plain  to  any 
one  observing  the  man. 

With  this  fresh  diversion  play  at  the  card  tables  was 
resumed  while  the  men  at  the  bar  fell  back  into  their 
original  groups.  But  the  general  interest  was  absorbed 
in  Beasley's  news,  and  the  channels  of  talk  were  diverted. 
Beasley  had  sown  his  seed  on  fruitful  soil.  He  knew  it. 
The  coming  of  a  sheriff,  or  any  form  of  established  law, 
into  a  new  mining  camp  was  not  lightly  to  be  welcomed 
by  the  earliest  pioneers. 

In  the  midst  of  this  atmosphere  a  further  interest  arose. 
The  last  person  Beasley  expected  to  see  in  his  bar  at  that 
hour  of  the  day  was  Buck.  He  was  not  even  sure  he 
wanted  to  see  him  after  what  had  passed.  Yet  Buck  sud- 
denly pushed  his  way  through  the  swing-doors. 

The  saloon-keeper  was  in  the  act  of  replacing  the 
whisky  bottle  under  the  counter,  having  just  served  his 
fresh  customers,  when  his  foxy  eyes  encountered  the  dark 
face  of  the  man  he  most  hated  on  Yellow  Creek. 

In  a  moment  he  was  all  smiles. 

11  Howdy,  Buck/'  he  cried,  as  though  the  sight  of  him 
was  the  one  thing  in  the  world  he  desired.  Then  he 
covertly  winked  at  those  nearest  him. 

His  wink  conveyed  all  he  intended,  and  the  men  turned 
and  eyed  the  newcomer  curiously. 

Buck  responded  to  the  greeting  indifferently,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  business.  He  had  not  come  for  the  pleasure  of 
the  visit.  He  passed  a  slip  of  paper  across  the  counter. 

"  Can  you  do  them  for  me  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  Just  cast 
an  eye  over  that  list.  If  you'll  get  'em  put  up  I'll  ride  in 
in  the  mornin'  an'  fetch  'em  out.  I'll  need  'em  early." 


348  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

His  manner  was  short  and  cold.  It  was  his  way  with 
Beasley,  but  now  there  was  more  in  his  mind  to  make  for 
brevity. 

Beasley  studied  the  paper  closely.  And  as  he  read 
down  the  list  a  smile  spread  over  his  mean  face.  It  was 
a  long  list  of  supplies  which  included  rifle  and  revolver 
ammunition.  He  whistled  softly. 

4<  Mackinaw  ! "  Then  he  looked  up  into  the  dark  eyes 
of  the  waiting  man,  and  his  own  expressed  an  unwonted 
good-humor.  "Say,  wot's  doin'  at  the  fort?  Gettin' 
ready  for  a  siege  ?  Or — or  are  you  an'  the  Padre  chasin' 
the  long  trail?" 

Buck's  thin  cheeks  flushed  as  he  pointed  at  the  paper. 

"You  can  do  that  for  me?"  he  inquired  still  more 
coldly. 

Beasley  shot  a  swift  glance  round  at  the  interested  faces 
of  the  men  standing  by. 

"  Oh,  guess  I  can  do  it,"  he  said,  his  eyes  twinkling. 
"  Sure  I  can  do  it.  Say,  you  fellers  ain't  lightin'  out?  " 

He  winked  again.     This  time  it  was  deliberately  at  Buck. 

"  They're  winter  stores,"  said  Buck  shortly. 

Then,  as  Beasley  laughed  right  out,  and  he  became 
aware  of  a  general  smile  at  his  expense,  he  grew  hot. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  he  demanded  sharply.  And  his 
demand  was  not  intended  for  the  saloon-keeper  alone. 

"  Ke'p  your  shirt  on,  Buck,"  exclaimed  Beasley,  with 
studied  good-nature.  "  We  couldn't  jest  help  but  laff." 
Then  his  eyes  became  sentimentally  serious.  "  Y'  see,  we 
bin  worried  some.  We  wus  guessin'  when  you  came 
along.  Y'  see,  ther's  a  sheriff  an'  a  big  posse  o'  dep'ties 
comin'  right  along  to  this  yer  camp.  Y'  see,  ther's  some 
guy  chasin'  around  the  hills,  an'  he's  wanted  fer — murder." 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  349 

The  man  was  watching  for  an  effect  in  Buck's  face. 
But  he  might  as  well  have  looked  for  expression  in  that 
of  a  sphinx. 

"Wai?" 

It  was  the  only  response  Buck  afforded  him. 

"  Wai,"  Beasley  shifted  his  gaze.  He  laughed  feebly, 
and  the  onlookers  transferred  their  attention  to  him.  "  Y1 
see,  it  was  sort  o'  laffable  you  comin'  along  buyin'  winter 
stores  in  August,  an'  us  jest  guessin'  what  guy  the  sheriff 
would  be  chasin' — in  the  hills.  He  won't  be  smellin* 
around  the  fort  now?"  He  grinned  amiably  into  the 
dark  face.  But  deep  in  his  wicked  eyes  was  an  assurance 
which  Buck  promptly  read. 

Nor  did  it  take  him  a  second  to  come  to  a  decision.  He 
returned  the  man's  look  with  a  coolness  that  belied  his 
real  feelings.  He  knew  beyond  question  that  Mercy 
Lascelles  had  already  commenced  her  campaign  against 
the  Padre.  He  had  learned  of  her  journey  into  the  camp 
from  Joan.  The  result  of  that  journey  had  not  reached 
him  yet.  At  least  it  was  reaching  him  now. 

"  You  best  hand  it  me  straight,  Beasley,"  he  said. 
"  Guess  nothin'  straight  is  a  heap  in  your  line.  But  jest 
for  once  you've  got  no  corners  to  crawl  around.  Hand  it 
out— -an'  quick." 

Buck's  manner  was  dangerously  sharp  set.  There  was 
a  smouldering  fire  growing  in  his  passionate  eyes.  Beas- 
ley hesitated.  But  his  hesitation  was  only  for  the  reason 
of  his  own  growing  heat.  He  made  one  last  effort  to 
handle  the  matter  in  the  way  he  had  originally  desired, 
which  was  with  a  process  of  good-humored  goading  with 
which  he  hoped  to  keep  the  company  present  on  his 
side. 


350  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  Ther's  no  offense,  Buck,"  he  said.  "  At  least  ther' 
sure  needn't  to  be.  You  never  could  play  easy.  I  wus 
jest  handin'  you  a  laff — same  as  we  had." 

"  I'm  waiting"  said  Buck  with  growing  intensity,  utterly 
ignoring  the  explanation. 

But  Beasley's  hatred  of  the  man  could  not  be  long 
denied.  Besides,  his  last  attempt  had  changed  the  atti- 
tude of  the  onlookers.  There  was  a  lurking  derision,  even 
contempt  in  their  regard  for  him.  It  was  the  result  of 
what  had  occurred  before  Buck's  coming.  They  expected 
him  to  talk  as  plainly  as  he  had  done  then.  So  he  gave 
rein  to  the  venom  which  he  could  never  long  restrain. 

"  Guess  I  hadn't  best  ke'p  you  waitin',  sure,"  he  said 
ironically.  Then  his  eyes  suddenly  lit.  "  Winter  stores, 
eh  ?  "  he  cried  derisively.  "  Winter  stores — an'  why'll  the 
Padre  need  'em,  the  good  kind  Padre,  when  the  sheriff's 
comin'  along  to  round  him  up  fer — murder  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence  as  the  man  flung 
his  challenge  across  the  bar.  Every  eye  in  the  room  was 
upon  the  two  men  facing  each  other.  In  the  mind  of 
every  one  present  was  only  one  expectation.  The  light- 
ning-like play  of  life  and  death. 

But  the  game  they  all  understood  so  well  was  not  forth- 
coming. For  once  Buck's  heat  was  controlled  by  an  iron 
will.  To  have  shot  Beasley  down  where  he  stood  would 
have  been  the  greatest  delight  of  his  life,  but  he  restrained 
the  impulse.  There  were  others  to  think  of.  He  forced 
himself  to  calmness. 

Beasley  had  fired  his  shot  in  the  firm  conviction  it 
would  strike  home  unfailingly.  Yet  he  knew  that  it  was 
not  without  a  certain  random  in  it.  Still,  after  what  had 
been  said,  it  was  imperative  to  show  no  weakening 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  351 

He  was  certain  the  quarry  was  the  Padre,  and  his  con- 
viction received  further  assurance  as  he  watched  Buck's 
face. 

For  an  instant  Buck  would  willingly  have  hurled  the  lie 
in  his  teeth.  But  to  do  so  would  have  been  to  lie  himself, 
and,  later,  for  that  lie  to  be  proved.  There  was  only  one 
course  open  to  him  to  counter  the  mischief  of  this  man. 
He  looked  squarely  into  the  saloon-keeper's  face. 

"  The  truth  don't  come  easy  to  you,  Beasley,"  he  said 
calmly,  "  unless  it's  got  a  nasty  flavor.  Guess  that's  how 
it's  come  your  way  to  tell  it  now." 

"  Winter  stores,"  laughed  the  man  behind  the  bar.  And 
he  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully,  and  winked  his  delight  in 
his  own  astuteness  at  the  men  looking  on. 

Then  his  face  sobered,  and  it  seemed  as  though  all  his 
animosity  had  been  absorbed  in  a  profound  regret.  His 
whole  attitude  became  the  perfection  of  a  righteous  indig- 
nation and  sympathy,  which  almost  deceived  Buck  him- 
self. 

"  See  here,  Buck,"  he  exclaimed,  leaning  across  his  bar. 
"  You  an'  me  don't  always  see  things  the  same  way. 
Guess  I  don't  allus  hit  it  with  the  Padre.  No,  I  guess 
ther'  ain't  a  heap  of  good  feeling  among  the  three  of  us. 
But  before  you  leave  here  I  want  to  say  jest  one  thing, 
an'  it's  this.  Sheriff  or  no  sheriff,  deputies  or  no  deputies, 
if  they're  lookin'  fer  the  Padre  for  murder  I  say  it's  a 
jumped-up  fake.  That  man  couldn't  do  a  murder,  not  to 
save  his  soul.  An'  it'll  give  me  a  whole  heap  o'  pleasure 
fixin'  up  your  winter  stores.  An'  good  luck  to  you  both 
— when  you  hit  the  long  trail." 

A  murmur  of  approval  went  round  the  room  amongst 
those  of  the  company  who  remembered  the  days  before 


352  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

the  gold  strike.  And  Beasley,  in  his  long  career  of  mis- 
chief, almost  achieved  popularity. 

Buck  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears.  And  his  incredu- 
lity was  not  lessened  as  he  looked  into  the  furtive  eyes  of 
the  man  who  had  expressed  himself  so  cordially. 

But  he  had  been  given  the  opportunity  he  knew  he  would 
need  sooner  or  later.  He  knew  that  there  were  men  in 
the  camp  who  would  stand  by  the  Padre  in  emergency, 
and  they  must  know  the  truth.  Since  Aunt  Mercy's  cam- 
paign had  opened,  and  the  news  of  it  was  spread  abroad, 
these  men  must  be  told  the  facts,  and  know  his  own  atti- 
tude. He  might  well  need  their  assistance  in  the  future, 
as  they,  in  the  past,  had  needed  the  Padre's 

"  I  take  it  you  mean  that,  Beasley,"  he  said  without 
warmth.  Then,  ignoring  the  man,  he  turned  to  those 
gathered  about  him.  "  I  don't  know  how  Beasley's  got 
this  thing,  fellers,"  he  said,  in  his  simple  fashion.  "  It 
don't  matter,  anyway.  I  hadn't  a  notion  the  sheriff  was 
comin'  along  yet,  either.  That  don't  matter.  Anyways 
I  guessed  he  would  be  comin'  sooner  or  later,  an'  that's 
the  reason  I'm  layin'  in  stores  of  gun  stuff  an'  things. 
Yes,  he's  comin'  for  the  Padre  on  a  charge  of  murder,  a 
low-down  charge  of  murder  that  he  never  committed. 
You  know  the  ways  of  the  law,  an'  how  things  sure  go  in 
such  rackets.  The  charge  is  nigh  twenty  years  old.  Wai, 
maybe  it'll  be  nigh  impossible  for  him  to  prove  he  didn't 
do  it.  It  looks  that  way.  Anyways,  I  tell  you  right  here, 
ther'  ain't  no  sheriff  in  this  country  goin'  to  git  him  while 
I'm  alive.  He's  raised  me  from  a  starvin'  kid,  an'  he's 
bin  the  biggest  thing  on  earth  to  me,  an'  Fm  goin'  to  see 
him  through.  You  fellers,  some  o'  you,  know  the  Padre. 
You  know  what  he's  done  right  here  to  help  folks  when 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  353 

they  were  starvin'.  He  even  sold  his  farm  to  help.  Sold 
it  right  out,  an'  give  up  twenty  years'  work  to  hand  grub 
to  empty  bellies.  Wai,  they  want  him  fer  murder.  Him, 
the  best  and  straightest  man  I  ever  knew.  I  ain't  got 
nothin'  more  to  say  'cept  Beasley's  right — the  sheriffs 
comin'.  An'  when  he  comes  he'll  find  the  hills  hotter 
than  hell  fer  him,  an'  I'll  have  a  hand  in  makin'  'em  that 
way."  He  turned  abruptly  to  Beasley,  and  pointed  at  the 
paper  lying  on  the  counter.  "  You'll  do  them  things  for 
me,  an'  I'll  get  'em  to-morrow." 

He  turned  away,  flinging  his  farewell  back  over  his 
shoulder  as  he  reached  the  door. 

"  So  long,  fellers,"  he  cried,  and  pushed  his  way  out. 

The  moment  he  had  gone  every  tongue  was  let  loose. 
The  gamblers  cashed  their  "  chips  "  at  the  bar.  There 
was  no  more  play  that  afternoon.  Excitement  ran  high, 
and  discussion  was  at  fever  heat.  To  a  man  those  who 
knew  the  Padre,  and  those  who  didn't,  commended  Buck's 
attitude.  And  amongst  the  older  hands  of  the  camp  was 
an  ardent  desire  to  take  a  hand  in  resisting  the  law. 
Beasley  was  in  agreement  with  nearly  everybody.  He 
expressed  a  wonderful  fury  at  the  absurdity  and  injustice, 
as  he  described  it,  of  the  charge.  And,  finally,  he  pos- 
sessed himself  of  the  floor  again  for  the  purposes  of  his 
own  subtle  scheming. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  fellers?"  he  cried,  when  he  had 
obtained  a  general  hearing.  "  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  he 
reiterated  in  a  fine  fury.  "  I  don't  like  him,  but  Buck's  a 
man.  A  straight,  bully  feller.  He's  goin'  to  do  the  right 
thing.  He'll  stand  by  that  Padre  feller  while  he's  got  a 
breath  in  his  body,  an'  he'll  shoot  the  sheriff  up  as  sure  as 
sure.  An'  why  ?  Because  that  feller,  the  Padre,  sold  his 


354  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

farm  to  help  us  old  hands.  Because  he  sold  his  farm  to 
that  *  Jonah '  gal,  who's  brought  all  this  trouble  about.  If 
she  hadn't  come  around  Pete  an'  Ike  would  have  bin  liv- 
ing now.  If  she  hadn't  come  around  the  Padre  wouldn't 
be  wanted  for  a  murder  he  never  committed.  If  she 
hadn't  come  around  Buck  wouldn't  have  set  himself  up 
agin  the  law,  an'  found  himself  chasin'  the  country  over 
— an  outlaw.  D'yer  see  it  ?  You're  blind  if  you  don't." 
He  brought  his  clenched  fist  down  on  the  counter  in  a 
whirlwind  of  indignation.  "  She's  got  to  go,"  he  cried. 
"  I  tell  you,  she's  got  to  go.  Chase  her  out.  Burn  her 
out.  Get  rid  of  her  from  here.  An'  I  got  five  hundred 
dollars  says — do  it" 

Beasley  knew  his  men.  And  in  every  eye  he  saw  that 
they  were  with  him  now.  Nor  could  anything  have 
pleased  him  more  than  when  Curly  shouted  his  sudden 
sympathy. 

"  Beasley's  right,  boys,"  he  cried.  "  She's  brought  the 
rotten  luck.  She  must  go.  Who's  to  say  whose  turn  it'll 
be  next  ?  " 

"  Bully  for  you,"  cried  Beasley.  "  Curly's  hit  it.  Who's 
the  next  victim  of  the  rotten  luck  of  this  Golden  Woman?  " 

His  final  appeal  carried  the  day.  The  men  shouted  a 
general  approval,  and  Beasley  reveled  inwardly  in  his  tri- 
umph. He  had  played  his  hand  with  all  the  skill  at  his 
command — and  won.  And  now  he  was  satisfied.  He 
knew  he  had  started  the  ball  rolling.  It  would  grow.  In 
a  few  hours  the  majority  of  the  camp  would  be  with  him. 
Then,  when  the  time  came,  he  would  play  them  for  his 
own  ends,  and  so  pay  off  all  his  old  scores. 

The  Padre  would  be  taken.  He  would  see  to  that. 
The  sheriff  should  know  every  detail  of  Buck's  intentions. 


BEASLEY  IN  HIS  ELEMENT  355 

Buck  would  ultimately  be  taken — after  being  outlawed. 
And  Joan — the  proud  beauty  whom  Buck  was  in  love  with 
— well,  if  she  got  out  with  her  life  it  would  be  about  all 
she  would  escape  with. 
Beasley  felt  very  happy. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   MOVING  FINGER 

THE  Padre  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps  and  looked  out 
over  the  wide  stretching  valley  below  him.  His  long  day 
was  drawing  to  a  close,  but  he  felt  no  weariness  of  body. 
There  was  a  weariness  of  mind,  a  weariness  of  outlook. 
There  was  something  gray  and  cold  and  hopeless  upon 
his  horizon,  something  which  left  him  regretful  of  all  that 
which  lay  within  his  view  now. 

There  was  a  half  smile  in  his  eyes,  as,  for  a  moment, 
they  rested  on  the  narrow  indistinct  trail  which  looked  so 
far  below  him.  He  was  thinking  of  that  apparition  he 
had  met  only  a  few  days  back,  the  apparition  which  had 
suddenly  leapt  out  of  his  past.  It  was  all  very  strange, 
very  wonderful,  the  working  of  those  mysterious  things 
which  make  it  certain  that  no  page  in  a  human  creature's 
life  can  be  turned  once  and  for  all. 

Yes,  it  was  all  very  wonderful.  The  hand  of  Fate  had 
begun  to  move  against  him  when  he  had  greeted  that 
starving  fragment  of  humanity  at  the  trail-side,  more  than 
twenty  years  ago.  It  had  moved  steadily  since  then  in 
every  detail  of  his  life.  It  had  been  progressing  in  the 
work  he  had  done  in  the  building  of  his  farm.  Its  mov- 
ing finger  had  pointed  every  day  of  Buck's  young  life. 
In  the  necessities  of  those  poor  gold-seekers  it  had  shown 
its  unerring  direction,  even  in  the  spirit  which  had 


THE  MOVING  FINGER  357 

prompted  him  to  help  them,  which  involved  the  selling  of 
his  farm. 

Then  he  saw  its  bitter  irony.  It  had  done  its  work  by 
bringing  Joan  into  contact  with  Buck,  and,  with  cruel 
derision,  had  shown  him  how  unnecessary  his  sacrifice  had 
been.  Then  had  come  all  those  other  things,  moving  so 
swiftly  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  count  each  step  in 
the  iron  progress  of  the  moving  finger.  It  had  come 
with  an  overwhelming  rush  which  swept  him  upon  its  tide 
like  a  feather  upon  the  bosom  of  the  torrent.  And  now, 
caught  in  the  whirling  rapids  below  the  mighty  falls,  he 
could  only  await  the  completion  of  the  sentence  so  long 
since  pronounced. 

The  smile  broadened,  spreading  gently  across  his  face. 
He  realized  he  was  admitting  all  he  had  denied  to  Joan. 
But  the  thought  brought  him  no  weakening.  The  wisdom 
of  years  had  taught  him  much  that  must  not  be  communi- 
cated to  a  younger  generation.  Life  would  teach  them 
in  their  turn ;  they  must  not  learn  the  truths  which  lay 
before  them  before  their  time.  It  was  better  to  lie  than  to 
destroy  the  hope  of  youth. 

His  conscience  was  clear,  his  resolve  perfect  in  its 
steadiness.  The  happiness  of  two  people  was  at  stake. 
For  Buck  he  would  give  up  all.  There  was  no  sacrifice 
too  great.  For  Joan — she  was  the  fair  daughter  of  his 
oldest  friend.  His  duty  was  clear  by  her.  There  was  one 
course,  and  one  course  only  that  he  could  see  for  himself. 
To  remove  the  last  shadow  from  these  young  lives  he  must 
face  the  ordeal  which  lay  before  him.  What  its  outcome 
might  be  he  could  not  quite  see,  but  he  was  not  without 
hope.  There  were  certain  details  surrounding  the  death 
of  his  friend  which  did  not  fit  in  with  his  guilt.  He  had 


358  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

no  weapon  upon  him  in  that  house.  Nor  was  there  the 
least  reason  for  the  crime.  He  knew  he  would  be  con- 
fronted by  the  evidence  of  a  woman  who  hated  him,  a 
woman  capable  of  manufacturing  evidence  to  suit  her  own 
ends.  But,  whatever  else  she  might  do,  she  could  not  pro- 
duce a  weapon  belonging  to  him,  nor  could  she  invent  a 
reason  for  the  crime  that  could  not  be  disproved.  At  least 
this  was  the  hope  he  clung  to. 

However,  he  knew  that  he  could  not  leave  the  shadow 
of  his  possible  guilt  to  cloud  the  lives  of  these  two,  just 
setting  out  on  their  long  journey  together.  The  possibil- 
ities of  it  for  harm  were  far  too  great.  The  ocean  of  hot, 
youthful  love  was  far  too  possible  of  disaster  for  an  un- 
necessary threat  to  overshadow  it. 

No,  he  had  refused  the  request  of  these  two  from  the 
first  moment  when  he  had  realized  his  duty  by  them,  and 
now,  after  careful  thought,  his  resolve  remained  unshaken. 

Still,  he  was  not  without  regret  as  he  gazed  out  over 
that  vast  world  he  had  learned  to  love  so  well.  The 
thought  of  possibly  never  seeing  it  again  hurt  him.  The 
wide  valleys,  the  fair,  green  pastures,  the  frowning, 
mysterious  woods  with  their  utter  silence,  the  butting 
crags  with  their  barren  crests,  or  snow-clad  shoulders. 
They  held  him  in  a  thrall  of  almost  passionate  devotion. 
They  would  indeed  be  hard  to  part  with. 

He  looked  away  down  the  gaping  jaws  of  the  valley  at 
the  black  crest  of  Devil's  Hill.  It  was  a  point  that  never 
failed  to  attract  him,  and  now  more  so  than  ever.  Was  it 
not  round  this  hill  that  all  his  past  efforts  had  been  con- 
centrated ? 

He  studied  it.  Its  weirdness  held  him.  A  heavy 
mist  enveloped  its  crown,  that  steaming  mist  which  ever 


THE  MOVING  FINGER  359 

hung  above  the  suspended  lake.  It  was  denser  now  than 
usual.  It  had  been  growing  denser  for  the  last  two  days, 
and,  in  a  vague  way,  he  supposed  that  those  internal  fires 
which  heated  the  water  were  glowing  fiercer  than  usual. 
He  glanced  up  at  the  sky,  and  almost  for  the  first  time 
realized  the  arduous  efforts  of  the  westering  sun  to  pene- 
trate the  densely  humid  atmosphere.  It  was  stiflingly 
hot,  when  usually  the  air  possessed  a  distinct  chill. 

But  these  things  possessed  only  a  passing  interest. 
The  vagaries  of  the  mountain  atmosphere  rarely  concerned 
him.  His  vigorous  body  was  quite  impervious  to  its 
changes.  He  picked  up  his  "  catch  "  of  pelts  and  shoul- 
dered them.  They  were  few  enough,  and  as  he  thought 
of  the  unusual  scarcity  of  foxes  the  last  few  days  he  could 
not  help  feeling  that  the  circumstance  was  only  in  keeping 
with  the  rest  of  the  passing  events  of  his  life. 

He  made  his  way  along  the  foot-path  which  wound  its 
way  through  the  pine  bluff,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  old 
fur  fort  lay  hidden  inside  its  mouldering  stockade.  He 
flung  the  pelts  into  the  storeroom,  and  passed  on  to  the 
house,  wondering  if  Buck  had  returned  from  the  camp, 
whither  he  knew  he  had  been  that  day. 

He  found  him  busy  amidst  a  pile  of  stores  spread  out 
upon  the  floor  and  table,  and  a  mild  surprise  greeted  the 
youngster  as  he  looked  round  from  his  occupation. 

"  You  never  said — you  were  getting  stores,  Buck  ?  " 

The  Padre  eyed  the  pile  curiously.  Finally  his  eyes 
paused  at  the  obvious  ammunition  cases. 

Buck  followed  the  direction  of  his  gaze. 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  and  turned  again  to  his  work  of  be- 
stowing the  goods  in  the  places  he  had  selected  for  them. 

The  Padre  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down.     Then  he 


360  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

leisurely  began  to  exchange  his  moccasins  for  a  pair  of 
comfortable  house-shoes. 

"  Had  we  run  short  ?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"  No." 

Buck's  manner  was  touched  with  something  like 
brusqueness. 

"Then— why?" 

Buck  straightened  up,  bearing  in  his  arms  an  ammuni- 
tion box. 

"  Because  we  may  need  'em,"  he  said,  and  bestowed 
the  box  under  the  settle  with  a  kick. 

"  I  don't  get  you — that's  revolver  ammunition  you  just 
put  away." 

"Yes." 

Buck  continued  his  work  until  the  room  was  cleared. 
The  other  watched  him  interestedly.  Then  as  the  younger 
man  began  to  prepare  their  supper  the  Padre  again 
reverted  to  it. 

"  Maybe  you'll  tell  me  about  'em — now?"  he  said,  with 
his  easy  smile. 

Buck  had  just  set  the  kettle  on  the  stove.  He  stood 
up,  and  a  frown  of  perplexity  darkened  his  brow. 

"  Maybe  I  won't  be  able  to  get  to  camp  again,"  he  said. 
"  Maybe  we'll  need  'em  for  another  reason." 

"  What  other  ?  " 

"The  sheriff's  comin'.  That  woman's  sent  for  him. 
I've  figgered  out  he  can't  get  along  till  'bout  to-morrow 
night,  or  the  next  mornin'.  Anyway  it  don't  do  to  reckon 
close  on  how  quick  a  sheriff  can  git  doinV 

The  Padre's  smile  had  died  out  of  his  eyes.     He  sighed. 

"  The  sheriff's  coming,  eh  ?  "  Then  he  went  on  after  a 
pause.  "  But  these  stores — I  don't  see " 


THE  MOVING  FINGER  361 

A  dark  flame  suddenly  lit  Buck's  eyes,  but  though  he 
broke  in  quickly  it  was  without  the  heat  that  was  evi- 
dently stirring  within  him. 

"  They're  for  Joan,  an'  me — an'  you.  When  the  time 
comes  guess  we're  going  where  no  sheriff  can  follow  us,  if 
you  don't  make  trouble.  I  don't  guess  you  need  tellin' 
of  the  valley  below  us.  You  know  it,  an'  you  know  the 
steps.  You  know  the  canyon  away  on  toward  Devil's 
Hill.  That's  the  way  we're  goin' — when  the  time  comes. 
An'  I'd  say  there  ain't  no  sheriff  or  dep'ties'll  care  to  fol- 
low us  through  that  canyon.  After  that  we  cut  away 
north.  Ther's  nobody  can  follow  our  trail  that  way." 

Something  almost  of  defiance  grew  into  his  voice  as  he 
proceeded.  He  was  expecting  denial,  and  was  ready  to 
resist  it  with  all  his  force. 

The  Padre  shook  his  head. 

"Buck,  Buck,  this  is  madness — rank  madness,"  he 
cried.  "  To  resist  the  law  in  the  way  your  hot  head  dic- 
tates is  to  outlaw  yourselves  beyond  all  redemption.  You 
don't  understand  what  you  are  doing.  You  don't  know 
to  what  you  are  condemning  this  little  Joan.  You  don't 
know  how  surely  your  methods  will  condemn  me" 

But  Buck  was  on  fire  with  rebellion  against  the  injustice 
of  a  law  which  claimed  the  Padre  as  its  victim.  He  saw 
the  hideous  possibilities  following  upon  his  friend's  ar- 
rest, and  was  determined  to  give  his  life  in  the  service  of 
his  defense. 

"  It's  not  madness,"  he  declared  vehemently.  "  It's 
justice,  real  justice  that  we  should  defend  our  freedom. 
If  you  wer'  guilty,  Padre,  it  would  be  dead  right  to  save 
yourself.  It's  sure  the  right  of  everything  to  save  its  life. 
If  you're  innocent  you  sure  got  still  more  right.  Padre, 


362  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

I  tell  you  they  mean  to  fix  you.  That  woman's  got  a  cinch 
she  ain't  lettin'  go.  She's  lived  for  this  time,  Joan's  told 
me.  She'll  raise  plumb  hell  to  send  you  to  your  death. 
Padre,  just  listen  to  us.  It's  me  an'  Joan  talkin'  now. 
What  I  say  she  says.  We  can  see  these  things  different 
to  you  ;  we're  young.  You  say  it's  your  duty  to  give  up 
to  this  woman.  We  say  it's  our  duty  you  shan't.  If  you 
give  up  to  her  you're  giving  up  to  devil's  mischief,  an* 
that's  dead  wrong.  An'  nothin'  you  can  say  can  show  me 
you  got  a  right  to  help  devil's  work.  We'll  light  out  of 
here  before  they  come.  Us  three.  If  you  stop  here,  we 
stop  too,  an'  that's  why  I  got  the  ammunition.  More 
than  that.  Ther's  others,  too,  won't  see  you  taken.  Ther's 
fellers  with  us  in  the  camp — fellers  who  owe  you  a  heap — 
like  I  do." 

The  Padre  watched  the  steam  rising  from  the  kettle 
with  moody  eyes.  The  youngster  was  tempting  him 
sorely.  He  knew  Buck's  determination,  his  blind  loyalty. 
He  felt  that  herein  lay  his  own  real  danger.  Yes,  to  bolt 
again,  as  he  had  done  that  time  before,  would  be  an  easy 
way  out.  But  its  selfishness  was  too  obvious.  He  could 
not  do  it.  To  do  so  would  be  to  drag  them  in  his  train  of 
disaster,  to  blight  their  lives  and  leave  them  under  the 
grinding  shadow  of  the  law. 

No,  it  could  not  be. 

"  Looked  at  from  the  way  you  look  at  it,  there  is  right 
enough  in  what  you  say,  boy,"  he  said  kindly.  "  But  you 
can't  look  at  civilized  life  as  these  mountains  teach  you  to 
look  at  things.  When  the  sheriff  comes  I  yield  to  arrest, 
and  I  trust  in  God  to  help  us  all.  My  mind  is  made  up." 

For  some  moments  Buck  stared  down  at  the  sturdy 
friend  who  had  taken  the  place  of  his  dead  father.  His 


THE  MOVING  FINGER  363 

eyes  softened,  and  their  fire  died  out.  But  there  was  no 
rescinding  of  his  desperate  decision.  He  was  thinking  of 
what  it  would  mean,  the  thought  of  this  white-haired  man 
in  the  hands  of  the  executioner.  He  was  thinking  of  the 
kindly  heart  beating  within  that  stalwart  bosom.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  wonderful,  thoughtful  kindness  for  others 
which  was  always  the  motive  of  his  life.  And  a  deep- 
throated  curse  rose  to  his  lips.  But  it  found  no  utterance. 
It  could  not  in  that  presence. 

"  An'  my  mind's  made  up,"  he  jerked  out  at  last,  with 
concentrated  force.  Then  he  added  with  an  abrupt  soft- 
ening, "  Let's  eat,  Padre.  I  was  forgettin'.  Mebbe  you're 
hungry  soma" 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  JOY  OF  BEASLEY 

AN  unusual  number  of  horses  were  tethered  at  the  posts 
outside  Beasley's  saloon,  and,  a  still  more  unusual  thing, 
their  owners,  for  the  most  part,  were  not  in  their  usual 
places  within  the  building.  Most  of  them  were  lounging 
on  the  veranda  in  various  attitudes  best  calculated  to  rest 
them  from  the  effects  of  the  overpowering  heat  of  the 
day.  Beasley  was  lounging  with  them.  For  once  he 
seemed  to  have  weakened  in  his  restless  energy,  or  found 
something  of  greater  interest  than  that  of  netting  ques- 
tionable gains. 

The  latter  seemed  to  be  the  more  likely,  for  his  restless 
eyes  displayed  no  lack  of  mental  activity.  At  any  rate, 
he  displayed  an  attitude  that  afternoon  which  startled  even 
his  bartender.  Not  once,  but  several  times  that  individual, 
of  pessimistic  mood,  had  been  called  upon  to  dispense  free 
rations  of  the  worst  possible  liquor  in  the  place,  until, 
driven  from  wonder  to  protest,  he  declared,  with  emphatic 
conviction  and  an  adequate  flow  of  blasphemy,  address- 
ing himself  to  the  bottles  under  the  counter,  the  smeary 
glasses  he  breathed  upon  while  wiping  with  a  soiled  and 
odoriferous  cloth,  that  the  boss  was  "  bug — plumb  bug." 
Nevertheless,  his  own  understanding  of  "  crookedness  " 
warned  him  that  the  man  had  method,  and  he  was 
anxious  to  discover  the  direction  in  which  it  was  mov- 


THE  JOY  OF  BEASLEY  365 

ing.  Therefore  he  watched  Beasley's  doings  with  ap- 
preciative eyes,  and  his  interest  grew  as  the  afternoon 
waned. 

"  He's  on  a  crook  lay,"  he  told  himself  after  a  while. 
And  the  thought  brightened  his  outlook  upon  life,  and 
helped  to  banish  some  of  his  pessimism. 

The  chief  feature  of  interest  for  him  lay  in  the  fact  that 
the  men  foregathered  were  a  collection  of  those  who  be- 
longed to  the  "  something-for-nothing  "  class,  as  he  graph- 
ically described  them.  And  he  observed,  too,  that  Beasley 
was  carefully  shepherding  them.  There  were  a  few  of  the 
older  hands  of  the  camp,  but  these  seemed  to  have  less 
interest  for  his  boss.  At  least  he  showed  far  less  consid- 
eration for  them.  And  it  quickly  became  evident  that 
the  whole  afternoon's  object  was  the  adequate  ingrati- 
ation  and  stimulation  of  these  dregs  of  frontier  life. 

This  the  bartender  saw  quite  clearly.  For  the  rest  he 
was  content  to  wait.  He  had  spent  most  of  his  life  in 
thus  waiting  and  watching  the  nefarious  schemes  of  un- 
scrupulous men. 

The  heat  was  overpowering.  It  was  almost  an  effort  to 
breathe,  let  alone  move  about.  The  men  lolled,  propped 
against  the  baulks  of  timber  supporting  the  veranda  roof, 
stretched  out  on  benches,  or  crouching  on  the  raised  edge 
of  the  wooden  flooring.  One  and  all  were  in  a  state  of 
wiltering  in  the  stewing  heat,  from  which  only  an  inter- 
mittent flow  of  fiery  spirit  could  rouse  them. 

Beasley  was  the  one  exception  to  this  general  condition 
of  things.  Mentally  he  was  particularly  alert.  And,  what 
is  more,  his  temper,  usually  so  irritable  and  fiery,  was 
reduced  to  a  perfect  level  of  good  humor. 

For  some  moments  talk  had  died  out.     Then  in  a  sud- 


366  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

den  fit  of  irritability  Abe  Allinson  kicked  a  loose  stone  in 
the  direction  of  the  tethered  horses. 

"Say,"  he  observed,  "this  'minds  one  o'  the  time  we 
struck  color  at  the  hill." 

His  eyes  wandered  toward  the  gathering  shadows, 
slowly  obscuring  the  grim  sides  of  Devil's  Hill.  His 
remark  was  addressed  to  no  one  in  particular. 

Beasley  took  him  up.  It  was  his  purpose  to  keep  these 
men  stirring. 

"  How  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Why,  the  heat.  Say,  git  a  peek  at  that  sky.  Look 
yonder.  The  sun.  Get  them  durned  banks  o'  cloud 
swallerin'  it  right  up  atop  o'  them  hills.  Makes  you 
think,  don't  it  ?  That's  storm.  It's  comin'  big — an' be- 
fore many  hours." 

"  For  which  we'll  all  be  a  heap  thankful."  Beasley 
laughed.  "Another  day  of  this  an'  I'll  be  done  that 
tender  a  gran'ma  could  eat  me." 

His  remark  drew  a  flicker  of  a  smile. 

"  She'd  need  good  ivories,"  observed  the  gambler, 
Diamond  Jack,  with  mild  sarcasm. 

Beasley  took  the  remark  as  a  compliment  to  his  busi- 
ness capacity,  and  grinned  amiably. 

"  Jack's  right.  You'd  sure  give  her  an  elegant  pain, 
else,"  added  Curly,  in  a  tired  voice.  He  was  steadily 
staring  down  the  trail  in  a  manner  that  suggested  indif- 
ference to  any  coming  storm.  Somebody  laughed  half- 
heartedly. But  Curly  had  no  desire  to  enliven  things, 
and  went  on  quite  seriously. 

"  Say,  when's  this  bum  sheriff  gettin'  around  ?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

Beasley  took  him  up  at  once. 


THE  JOY  OF  BEASLEY  367 

"  Some  time  to-night,"  he  said,  in  a  well-calculated  tone 
of  resentment.  "  That's  why  I  got  you  boys  around  now," 
he  added  significantly. 

"  You  mean ?  "  Diamond  Jack  nodded  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  farm. 

Beasley  nodded. 

"  That  old  crow  bait  got  back  early  this  mornin',"  he 
went  on.  "  I  was  waitin'  on  her.  She  guessed  she  hadn't 
a  thing  to  say,  an'  I  surely  was  up  agin  a  proposition. 
So  I  jest  made  out  I  was  feelin'  good  seein'  her  git  back, 
an'  told  her  I  wa'an't  lookin'  for  information  she  didn't 
guess  she  was  givin',  and  ther'  wasn't  no  need  fer  her  to 
say  a  thing.  She  guessed  that  was  so.  After  that  I 
passed  things  by,  sayin'  how  some  o'  the  boys  hated 
sheriffs  wuss'n  rattlesnakes — an'  she  laffed.  Yes,  sir,  she 
laffed,  an'  it  must  have  hurt  her  some.  Anyways  she 
opened  out  at  that,  an'  said,  if  any  boys  hated  the  sight 
of  sheriffs  they'd  better  hunt  their  holes  before  sun-up. 
Guess  she  didn't  just  use  them  words,  but  she  give  'em 
that  time  limit.  Say,  if  I  was  the  Padre  I'd  sooner  have 
the  devil  on  my  trail  than  that  old — bunch  o'  marrow 
bones." 

Slaney  looked  up  from  the  bench  on  which  he  was 
spread  out. 

"  Guess  he'll  have  wuss'n  her  when  Bob  Richards  gets 
around,"  he  said  gloomily. 

"  D'you  reckon  they'll  git  him — with  Buck  around  ?  " 
inquired  Curly  anxiously. 

"  Buck  !  Tcha ! "  Beasley's  dislike  for  the  moment 
got  the  better  of  his  discretion.  But  he  quickly  realized 
his  mistake,  and  proceeded  to  twist  his  meaning.  "  It 
makes  me  mad.  It  makes  me  plumb  crazed  when  I 


368  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

think  o'  that  bully  feller,  the  Padre,  bein'  give  dead  away 
by  the  folks  at  the  farm.  Buck  ?  Psha'  !  Who's  Buck 
again  a  feller  like  Bob  Richards?  Bob's  the  greatest 
sheriff  ever  stepped  in  Montana.  He'll  twist  Buck  so  he 
won't  know  rye  whisky  from  sow-belly.  Buck's  grit,  ele- 
gant grit,  but  Bob — wal,  I'd  say  he's  the  wisest  guy  west 
of  Chicago,  when  it  comes  to  stringin'  up  a  crook." 

"  I'm  with  you,  boss,"  cried  Diamond  Jack,  in  a  quick 
rage.  "  This  farm  needs  lookin'  to  to-night  sure.  We 
got  to  git  in  'fore  sheriffs  git  around.  They're  play  in'  a 
low-down  racket.  Jonahs  don't  cut  no  ice  with  me,  but 
they're  chasin'  up  glory  agin  the  camp.  That's  how  I 
read  it.  Guess  none  of  us  is  saints,  anyways  I  don't  seem 
to  hear  no  wings  flappin'  ;  but  givin'  folks  up  to  the  law 
is_low." 

Abe  Allinson  grunted,  and  a  general  atmosphere  of 
silent  approval  prevailed.  Beasley,  whose  eyes  were 
watching  every  expression,  pushed  the  ball  further  along. 

"  Low  ?  "  he  cried.  "  You,  Jack,  don't  know  the  guy 
we're  so  dead  keen  to  help  out.  If  you  did  you'd  git 
right  up  on  to  your  hind  legs  an'  cuss  terrible — an'  you've 
cussed  some  in  your  time.  But  for  him  this  camp  wouldn't 
be  the  bonanza  it  is.  You  wouldn't  be  nettin'  a  pile  of 
dollars  every  night  in  my  bar.  I  wouldn't  be  runnin'  a 
big  proposition  in  dollar  makin'.  These  boys  wouldn't 
be  chasin'  gold  on  full  bellies.  Gee,  it  makes  me  mad — 
an'  thirsty.  Let's  get  around  inside  an'  see  what  that 
glass  rustler  of  mine  can  do." 

The  response  was  immediate  and  complete.  No  man 
had  ever  been  known  to  refuse  Beasley's  hospitality. 
Everybody  drank.  And  they  drank  again  at  Diamond 
Jack's  expense.  Then  later  they  drank  at  their  own.  And 


THE  JOY  OF  BEASLEY  369 

all  the  while  Beasley,  with  consummate  skill,  shepherded 
them  to  his  own  ends. 

It  was  truly  wonderful  to  see  the  manner  in  which  he 
handled  them.  He  adopted  the  simplest  tactics,  once  he 
had  set  the  ball  rolling,  contenting  himself  with  dropping 
in  a  word  here  and  there  every  time  the  subject  of  the 
sheriff  drifted  toward  his  ears.  He  knew  these  men.  He 
possessed  that  keenness  of  insight  into  his  customers  which 
no  successful  saloon-keeper  fails  to  acquire.  He  under- 
stood their  weaknesses  in  a  manner  which  left  it  a  simple 
enough  task  to  play  upon  them.  In  this  case  the  basis  of 
his  procedure  was  drink — strong,  harsh  whisky,  of  a  vio- 
lent type. 

The  banking  clouds  rose  ponderously  upon  the  hilltops, 
blacking  out  the  twilight  with  an  abruptness  which  must 
have  held  deep  significance  for  men  less  occupied.  But 
the  dominant  overcast  of  their  minds  was  the  coming  of 
the  sheriff.  For  many  of  them  it  was  far  more  ominous 
than  any  storm  of  nature. 

The  bar  filled  to  overflowing.  No  one  cared  to  gamble. 
There  would  have  been  no  room  for  them,  anyway.  Even 
Diamond  Jack  showed  no  inclination  to  pursue  his  trade. 
Perhaps  this  was  the  most  significant  feature  of  all. 

His  was  a  weighty  word  thrown  in  the  balance  of  pub- 
lic opinion.  Perhaps  this  was  the  result  of  his  well-under- 
stood shrewdness.  At  any  rate  he  never  failed  to  find  a 
ready  audience  for  his  opinions,  and  to-night  his  opinions 
were  strongly  and  forcefully  declared.  Beasley  listened 
to  him  with  interest,  and  smiled  as  he  observed  him  mov- 
ing about  amongst  the  crowd  drinking  with  one,  treating 
another,  his  tongue  never  idle  in  his  denunciation  of 
sheriffs,  and  all  those  who  called  in  their  aid.  It  almost 


3/0  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

seemed  as  if  the  man  was  acting  under  orders,  orders,  per- 
haps inspired  by  a  subtler  mind,  to  disguise  the  real  source 
whence  they  sprang. 

The  gambler  was  truly  a  firebrand,  and  so  well  did  he 
handle  his  people,  so  well  did  he  stir  them  by  his  disgust 
and  righteous  horror  at  the  employment  of  a  sheriff  in 
their  midst,  that  by  nine  o'clock  the  camp  was  loud  in  its 
clamor  for  retribution  to  be  visited  upon  those  who  had 
brought  such  a  terror  into  their  midst. 

Beasley 's  amiability  grew.  His  bartender  watched  it 
in  amazement.  But  it  oppressed  him.  His  pessimism 
resented  it.  He  hated  joy,  and  the  evidences  of  joy  in 
others.  There  was  real  pleasure  for  him  in  Diamond 
Jack's  hectoring  denunciations.  It  was  something  which 
appealed  to  him.  Besides,  he  could  see  the  gambler  was 
harassed,  perhaps  afraid  of  the  sheriff  himself.  He  even 
envied  him  his  fear.  But  Beasley's  satisfaction  was  de- 
pressing, and,  as  a  protest,  he  neglected  to  overcharge  the 
more  drunken  of  their  customers.  Beasley  must  not  have 
all  the  satisfaction. 

But,  as  far  as  Beasley  was  concerned,  the  bartender  was 
little  better  than  a  piece  of  furniture  that  night.  His  em- 
ployer had  almost  forgotten  his  existence.  Truth  to  tell, 
Beasley  had  lost  his  head  in  his  disease  of  venom.  One 
thought,  and  one  thought  only  urged  him.  To-night,  be- 
fore the  advent  of  the  sheriff  to  seize  upon  the  person  of 
the  hated  Padre,  he  hoped,  by  one  stroke,  to  crush  the 
heart  of  Buck,  and  bow  the  proud  head  of  the  girl  who 
had  so  plainly  showed  her  dislike  and  contempt  for  him, 
in  the  dust  of  shame  and  despair. 

It  was  a  moment  worth  waiting  for  It  was  a  moment 
of  joy  he  would  not  lightly  forego.  Nor  did  he  care  what 


THE  JOY  OF  BEASLEY  371 

time,  patience,  or  money  it  cost  him.  To  strike  at  those 
whom  he  hated  was  as  the  breath  of  life  to  him.  And  he 
meant  to  drink  deeply  of  his  cup  of  joy. 

His  moment  came.  It  came  swiftly,  suddenly,  like  most 
matters  of  great  import  His  opportunity  came  at  the 
psychological  moment,  when  the  last  shred  of  temperance 
had  been  torn  from  wild,  lawless  hearts,  which,  in  such 
moments,  were  little  better  than  those  of  savage  beasts. 
It  came  when  the  poison  of  complaint  and  bitterness  had 
at  last  searched  out  the  inmost  recesses  of  stunted,  brutal- 
ized minds.  And  Beasley  snatched  at  it  hungrily,  like  a 
worm-ridden  dog  will  snatch  at  the  filthiest  offal. 

The  drunken  voice  of  Abe  Allinson  lifted  above  the 
general  din.  He  was  lolling  against  one  end  of  the  coun- 
ter, isolated  from  his  fellows  by  reason  of  his  utterly  stu- 
pefied condition.  He  was  in  a  state  when  he  no  longer 
had  interest  for  his  companions.  He  rolled  about  blear- 
eyed  and  hopelessly  mumbling,  with  a  half-emptied  glass 
in  his  hand,  which  he  waved  about  uncertainly.  Sud- 
denly an  impotent  spasm  of  rage  seemed  to  take  hold  of 
him.  With  a  hoarse  curse  he  raised  his  glass  and  hurled 
it  crashing  against  the  wall.  Then,  with  a  wild,  pro- 
longed whoop  he  shouted  the  result  of  his  drunken  cogi- 
tations. 

"  We'll  burn  'em!  Drown  'em!  Shoot 'em  !  Hang 
?em  !  Come  on,  fellers,  foller  me ! " 

He  made  a  staggering  effort  to  leave  his  support.  He 
straightened  up.  For  a  moment  he  poised,  swaying. 
Then  he  pitched  forward  on  his  face  and  lay  stretched  fulJ 
length  upon  the  floor. 

But  all  had  heard.  And  Beasley  snatched  at  his  op- 
portunity He  sprang  upon  the  counter  in  the  moment 


372  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

of  astonished  quiet,  and,  before  tongues  broke  loose  again, 
he  had  the  whole  attention  of  the  crowd. 

"  Here,  boys,"  he  cried.  "  Abe's  right.  Drunk  as  he 
is,  he's  right.  Only  he  sure  wants  to  do  too  much — more 
than  his  legs'll  let  him."  He  grinned.  "We're  goin'  to 
do  this  thing  right  now.  But  we're  goin'  to  do  it  like 
good  citizens  of  a  dandy  city.  We  ain't  goin'  to  act  like 
a  gang  of  lynchers.  We're  dealin'  with  a  gal,  with  gold 
ha'r  an'  blue  eyes,  an'  we're  goin'  to  deal  accordin'.  We 
ain't  lookin'  fer  her  life.  That's  too  easy,  an',  wal — she's 
a  woman.  No,  we're  goin'  to  rid  this  place  of  her  an'  all 
her  tribe.  We're  goin'  to  make  it  so  she  can't  stop  to  do 
no  more  harm,  bringin'  sheriffs  around.  We're  goin'  to 
burn  her  home  right  out,  an'  we're  goin'  to  set  her  in  her 
wagon  an'  team,  an'  let  her  drive  to  hell  out  of  here. 
We're  goin'  to  do  it  right  now,  before  the  sheriff  gets  busy 
along  here.  After  that  we'll  be  too  late.  Are  you  game  ? 
Who's  comin'  ?  We're  goin'  to  burn  that  Jonah  farm  till 
ther'  ain't  a  stick  left  above  ground  to  say  it  ever  stood 
there.  That's  what  we're  goin'  to  do,  an'  I'm  the  man 
who'll  start  the  bonfire.  Say,  we'll  make  it  like  a  fourth 
o'  July.  We'll  have  one  royal  time — an'  we'll  be  quit  of 
all  Jonahs." 

As  he  finished  speaking  he  leapt  to  the  ground  amidst 
the  crowd.  Nor  did  he  need  to  wait  to  hear  the  response 
to  his  appeal.  It  came  in  one  of  those  unanimous, 
drunken  roars,  only  to  be  heard  in  such  a  place,  at  such 
a  time,  or  on  a  battle-field,  when  insensate  fury  demands  a 
raucous  outlet.  Every  man  in  the  place,  lost,  for  the  mo- 
ment, to  all  the  dictates  of  honest  manhood,  was  ready  to 
follow  the  leadership  of  one  whom,  in  sober  moments, 
they  all  disliked.  It  was  an  extraordinary  exhibition  of 


THE  JOY  OF  BEASLEY  373 

the  old  savage  which  ever  lies  so  near  the  surface  in  men 
upon  the  fringe  of  civilization. 

Nor  did  Beasley  give  them  time  to  think.  His  orders 
came  rapidly.  The  bartender,  for  once  his  eyes  sparkling 
at  the  thought  of  trouble  about  to  visit  an  unsuspecting 
fellow-creature,  hurled  himself  to  the  task  of  dealing  out 
one  large  final  drink  to  everybody.  Then  when  a  suffi- 
cient supply  of  materials  of  an  inflammatory  nature  had 
been  gathered  together,  the  saloon-keeper  placed  himself 
at  the  head  of  his  men,  supported  by  the  only  too  willing 
Diamond  Jack,  and  the  procession  started  out 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

STRONGER  THAN   DEATH 

FROM  the  time  of  her  aunt's  going  to  Leeson  Butte  to 
the  morning  of  her  return  to  the  farm  Joan  passed  through 
a  nightmare  of  uncertainty  and  hopelessness.  Every  mo- 
ment of  her  time  seemed  unreal.  Her  very  life  seemed 
unreal.  It  was  as  though  her  mind  were  detached  from  her 
body,  and  she  was  gazing  upon  the  scenes  of  a  drama  in 
which  she  had  no  part,  while  yet  she  was  weighted  down 
with  an  oppressive  fear  of  the  tragedy  which  she  knew 
was  yet  to  come. 

Every  moment  she  felt  that  the  threat  of  disaster  was 
growing.  That  it  was  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
that  now  no  power  on  earth  could  avert  it. 

Twice  only  during  that  dreary  interval  of  waiting  she 
saw  Buck.  But  even  his  presence  did  little  more  than 
ease  her  dread  and  despair,  leaving  it  crushing  her  down 
the  more  terribly  with  the  moment  of  his  going.  He 
came  to  her  with  his  usual  confidence,  but  it  was  only  with 
information  of  his  own  preparations  for  his  defense  of  his 
friend.  She  could  listen  to  them,  told  in  his  strong,  reliant 
manner,  with  hope  stirring  her  heart  and  a  great,  deep 
love  for  the  man  thrilling  her  every  nerve.  But  with  his 
going  came  the  full  realization  of  the  significance  of  the 
necessity  of  such  preparations.  The  very  recklessness  of 
them  warned  her  beyond  doubt  how  small  was  the  chance 
of  the  Padre's  escape.  Buck  had  declared  his  certainty 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH  375 

of  outwitting  the  law,  even  if  it  necessitated  using  force 
against  the  man  whom  he  intended  to  save. 

Left  to  her  own  resources  Joan  found  them  weak  enough, 
So  weak  indeed  that  at  last  she  admitted  to  herself  that 
the  evidences  of  the  curse  that  had  dogged  her  through 
life  were  no  matters  of  distorted  imagination.  They  were 
real  enough.  Terribly  real.  And  the  admission  found 
her  dreading  and  helpless.  She  knew  she  had  gone  back 
to  the  fatal  obsession,  which,  aided  by  the  Padre  and  her 
lover,  she  had  so  loyally  contended.  She  knew  in  those 
dark  moments  she  was  weakly  yielding.  These  men  had 
come  into  her  life,  had  sown  fresh  seeds  of  promise,  but 
they  had  been  sown  in  soil  choked  with  weeds  of  supersti- 
tion, and  so  had  remained  wholly  unfruitful. 

How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Hard  upon  the  heels  of 
Buck's  love  had  come  this  deadly  attack  of  fate  upon  him 
and  his.  The  miracle  of  it  was  stupendous.  It  had  come 
in  a  way  that  was  utterly  staggering.  It  had  come,  not  as 
with  those  others  who  had  gone  before,  but  out  of  her  life. 
It  had  come  direct  from  her  and  hers.  And  the  disaster 
threatened  was  not  merely  death  but  disgrace,  disgrace 
upon  a  good  man,  even  upon  her  lover,  which  would  last 
as  long  as  they  two  had  life. 

The  sense  of  tragedy  merged  into  the  maddening 
thought  of  the  injustice  of  it.  It  was  monstrous.  It  was 
a  tyranny  for  which  there  was  no  justification,  and  it 
goaded  her  to  the  verge  of  hysteria.  Whatever  she  did 
now  the  hand  of  fate  would  move  on  irrevocably  fulfilling 
its  purpose  to  the  bitter  end.  She  knew  it.  In  spite  of  all 
Buck's  confidence,  all  his  efforts  to  save  his  friend,  the 
disaster  would  be  accomplished,  and  her  lover  would  be 
lost  to  her  in  the  vortex  of  her  evil  destiny. 


3;6  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Fool — fool  that  she  had  been.  Wicked  even,  yes, 
wicked,  that  she  had  not  foreseen  whither  her  new  life  was 
drifting.  It  was  for  her  to  have  anticipated  the  shoals  of 
trouble  in  the  tide  of  Buck's  strong  young  life.  It  was  for 
her  to  have  prevented  the  mingling  of  their  lives.  It  was 
for  her  to  have  shut  him  out  of  her  thoughts  and  denied 
him  access  to  the  heart  that  beat  so  warmly  for  him.  She 
had  been  weak,  so  weak.  On  every  count  she  had  failed 
to  prove  the  strength  she  had  believed  herself  to  possess. 
It  was  a  heart-breaking  thought. 

But  she  loved.  It  would  have  been  impossible  to  have 
denied  her  love.  She  would  not  have  denied  it  if  she 
could.  Her  rebellion  against  her  fate  now  carried  her 
further.  She  had  the  right  to  love  this  man.  She  had  the 
right  which  belongs  to  every  woman  in  the  world.  And 
he  desired  her  love.  He  desired  it  above  all  things  in  the 
world — and  he  had  no  fear. 

Then  the  strangeness  of  it.  With  all  that  had  gone  be- 
fore she  had  had  no  misgivings  until  the  moment  he  had 
poured  out  all  the  strength  of  his  great  love  into  her 
yearning  ears.  She  had  not  recognized  the  danger  be- 
setting them.  She  had  not  paused  to  ask  a  question  of 
herself,  to  think  of  the  possibilities.  She  loved  him,  and 
the  thought  of  his  love  thrilled  her  even  now  amidst  all 
her  despair.  But  the  moment  his  words  of  love  had  been 
spoken,  even  with  the  first  wonderful  thrill  of  joy  had 
come  the  reality  of  awakening.  Then — then  it  was  that 
the  evil  of  her  fate  had  unmasked  itself  and  showed  its 
hideous  features,  leering,  mocking,  in  the  memory  of  what 
had  gone  before,  taunting  her  for  her  weakly  efforts  to 
escape  the  doom  marked  out  for  her. 

All  this  she  thought  of  in  her  black  moments.     All  this 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH  377 

and  far,  far  more  than  could  ever  take  shape  in  words. 
And  her  terror  of  what  was  to  come  became  unspeakable. 
But  through  it  all  one  thing,  one  gleam  of  hope  obtruded 
itself.  It  was  not  a  tangible  hope.  It  was  not  even  a 
hope  that  could  have  found  expression.  It  was  merely  a 
picture  that  ever  confronted  her,  even  when  darkness 
seemed  most  nearly  to  overwhelm  her. 

It  was  the  picture  of  Buck's  young  face,  full  of  strength 
and  confidence.  Somehow  the  picture  was  always  one  of 
hope.  It  caught  no  reflection  of  her  own  trouble,  but 
lived  in  her  memory  undiminished  by  any  despair,  how- 
ever black. 

Once  or  twice  she  found  herself  wondering  at  it.  Some- 
times she  felt  it  to  be  merely  a  trick  of  memory  to  taunt 
her  with  that  which  could  never  be,  and  so  she  tried  to 
shut  out  the  vague  hopes  it  aroused.  But,  as  time  went 
on,  and  the  hour  for  her  aunt's  return  drew  near,  the  re- 
currence of  the  picture  became  so  persistent  that  it  was 
rarely  out  of  her  mental  vision.  It  was  a  wonderful 
thought.  She  saw  him  as  she  had  seen  him  when  first  he 
laughed  her  threat  of  disaster  and  death  to  scorn.  She 
could  never  forget  that  moment.  She  could  hear  his 
laugh  now,  that  laugh,  so  full  of  youthful  courage,  which 
had  rung  through  the  old  barn. 

Pondering  thus  her  mind  suddenly  traveled  back  to 
something  which,  in  the  midst  of  all  her  tribulations,  had 
completely  passed  out  of  her  recollection.  She  was 
startled.  She  was  startled  so  that  she  gasped  with  the 
sudden  feeling  it  inspired.  What  was.it?  Something 
her  aunt  had  said.  Yes,  she  remembered  now.  And 
with  memory  the  very  words  came  back  to  her,  full  of  por- 
tentous meaning.  And  as  they  rushed  pell-mell  through 


3/8  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

her  straining  brain  a  great  uplifting  bore  her  toward  that 
hope  which  she  suddenly  realized  was  not  yet  dead. 

"  Go  you  and  find  a  love  so  strong  that  no  disaster  can 
kill  it.  And  maybe  life  may  still  have  some  compensa 
tions  for  you,  maybe  it  will  lift  the  curse  from  your  suffer- 
ing shoulders.  It — it  is  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that 
is  stronger  than  disaster.  It  is  the  only  thing  in  the  world 
that  is  stronger  than — death." 

They  were  her  aunt's  words  spoken  in  the  vehemence 
of  her  prophetic  passion.  It  was  the  one  thing,  she  had 
warned  her,  that  could  save  her. 

Was  this  the  love  she  had  found  ?  Was  this  the  love 
to  lead  her  to  salvation — this  wonderful  love  of  Buck's? 
Was  this  that  which  was  to  leave  life  some  compensa- 
tions ?  Was  this  that  which  was  stronger  than  disaster — 
than  death  ?  Yes,  yes  1  Her  love  was  her  life.  And  now 
without  it  she  must  die.  Yes,  yes  !  Buck — young,  glori- 
ous in  his  courage  and  strength.  He  was  stronger  than 
disaster,  and  their  love — was  it  not  stronger  than  death  ? 

From  the  moment  of  this  wonderful  recollection,  a  gen- 
tle calm  gradually  possessed  her.  The  straining  of  those 
two  long  wakeful  nights,  the  nightmare  of  dread  which 
had  pursued  her  into  the  daylight  hours,  left  her  with  a 
sudden  ease  of  thought  she  had  never  hoped  to  find 
again.  It  all  came  back  to  her.  Her  aunt  had  told  her 
whither  she  must  seek  the  key  that  would  unlock  the 
prison  gates  of  fate,  and  all  inadvertently  she  had 
found  it. 

In  Buck's  love  must  lay  her  salvation.  With  that 
stronger  than  death  no  disaster  could  come.  He  was 
right,  and  she  was  all  wrong.  He  had  laughed  them  to 
scorn — she  must  join  in  his  laugh. 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH  379 

So  at  last  came  peace.  The  last  wakeful  night  be- 
fore the  morning  of  her  aunt's  return  terminated  in  a 
few  hours  of  refreshing,  much-needed  slumber.  Hope 
had  dawned,  and  the  morrow  must  bring  the  morrow's 
events.  She  would  endeavor  to  await  them  with  some- 
thing of  the  confidence  which  supported  Buck. 

The  room  was  still,  so  still  that  its  atmosphere  might 
have  been  likened  to  the  night  outside,  which  was  heavy 
with  the  presage  of  coming  storm.  There  was  a  profound 
feeling  of  opposing  forces  at  work,  yet  the  silence  re- 
mained undisturbed. 

It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock,  and  the  yellow  lamplight 
shed  its  soft  monotony  over  the  little  parlor,  revealing  the 
occupants  of  the  room  in  attitudes  of  tense  concentration, 
even  antagonism.  Mercy  Lascelles  swayed  slowly  to  and 
fro  in  the  new  rocking-chair  Joan  had  purchased  for  her 
comfort.  Her  attenuated  figure  was  huddled  down  in 
that  familiar  attitude  which  the  girl  knew  so  well,  but  her 
face  wore  an  expression  which  Joan  had  never  beheld  be- 
fore. 

Usually  her  hard  eyes  were  coldly  unsmiling.  Now 
they  smiled — terribly.  Usually  her  thin  cheeks  were  al- 
most 'dead  white  in  their  pallor.  Now  they  were  flushed 
and  hectic  with  a  suggestion  of  the  inward  fire  that  lit  her 
eyes.  The  harsh  mouth  was  irrevocably  set,  till  nose 
and  chin  looked  as  though  they  soon  must  meet,  while 
the  hideous  dark  rings  showed  up  the  cruel  glare  of  her 
eyes,  which  shone  diabolically. 

Joan  stood  some  paces  away.  She  was  looking  down 
aghast  at  the  crouching  figure,  and  her  eyes  were  horri- 
fied. This  was  the  first  she  had  seen  of  her  relative 


38o  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

since  her  return  that  morning.  The  old  woman  had 
shut  herself  up  in  her  bedroom,  refusing  to  speak,  or 
to  eat,  all  day.  But  now  she  had  emerged  from  her 
seclusion,  and  Joan  had  been  forced  to  listen  to  the  story 
of  her  journey. 

It  was  a  painful  story,  and  still  more  painfully  told. 
It  was  full  of  a  cruel  enjoyment  such  as  never  in  her 
life  Joan  had  believed  this  woman  capable  of.  Her  ec- 
centricities were  many,  her  nervous  tendencies  strange 
and  often  weird,  but  never  had  such  a  side  of  her  char- 
acter as  she  now  presented  been  allowed  to  rise  to  the 
surface. 

At  first  Joan  wondered  as  she  listened.  She  wondered 
at  the  fierce  purpose  which  underlaid  this  weakly  body. 
But  with  each  passing  moment,  with  each  fresh  detail  of 
her  motives  and  methods,  her  wonder  deepened  to  a 
rapidly  growing  conviction  which  filled  her  with  horror 
and  repulsion.  She  told  herself  that  the  woman  was  no 
longer  sane.  At  last  she  had  fallen  a  victim  to  her  racked 
and  broken  nerves,  as  the  doctors  had  prophesied.  To 
them,  and  to  the  everlasting  brooding  upon  her  disap- 
pointments and  injuries  for  all  these  long  years. 

This  she  felt,  and  yet  the  feeling  conveyed  no  real  con- 
viction to  her  mind.  All  she  knew  was  that  loathing  and 
repulsion  stirred  her,  until  the  thought  revolted  her  that 
she  was  breathing  the  same  air  as  one  who  could  be 
capable  of  such  vicious  cruelty.  But  she  struggled  to 
stifle  all  outward  sign.  And  though  she  was  only  partly 
successful  she  contrived  to  keep  her  words  calm,  even  if 
her  eyes,  those  windows  of  her  simple  girl's  soul,  would 
not  submit  to  such  control. 

"  I'm  over  fifty  now,  girl,"  Mercy  finished  up,  in  a  low 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH  381 

suppressed  tone,  husky  with  feeling,  yet  thrilling  with  a 
cruel  triumph.  "  Over  fifty,  and,  for  the  last  twenty  and 
more  years  of  it,  I  have  waited  for  this  moment.  I  have 
waited  with  a  patience  you  can  never  understand  because 
you  have  never  been  made  to  suffer  as  I  have.  But  I 
knew  it  would  come.  I  have  known  it  every  day  of 
those  twenty  years,  because  I  have  read  it  in  that  book  in 
which  I  have  read  so  many  things  which  concern  human 
life.  I  was  robbed  of  life  years  and  years  ago.  Yes, 
life.  I  have  been  a  dead  woman  these  twenty  years.  My 
life  was  gone  when  your  father  died,  leaving  you,  another 
woman's  child,  in  my  hands.  God  in  heaven !  Some- 
times I  wonder  why  I  did  not  strangle  the  wretched  life 
out  of  you  years  ago — you,  another  woman's  child,  but 
yet  with  Charles  Stanmore's  blood  in  your  veins.  Perhaps 
it  was  because  of  that  I  spared  your  life.  Perhaps  it  was 
because  I  read  your  fate,  and  knew  you  had  to  suffer,  that 
I  preferred  my  sister's  child  should  reap  the  reward  of  her 
mother's  crime — yes,  crime.  Perhaps  it  was  that  while 
Charles  Stanmore  lived  my  hopes  and  longings  were  still 
capable  of  fulfilment.  But  he  is  dead — dead  years  and 
years  ago.  And  with  his  death  my  life  went  out  too. 
Now  there  is  only  revenge.  No,  not  revenge,"  she 
laughed,  "  justice  to  be  dealt  out.  That  justice  it  is  my 
joy  to  see  dispensed.  That  justice  it  is  my  joy  to  feel 
that  my  hand  has  brought  its  administering  about. 

"  I  have  laid  all  the  information  necessary.  I  have  a 
lawyer  in  Leeson  Butte  in  communication  with  my  man 
in  New  York.  And — and  the  sheriff  and  his  men  will  be 
here  before  daylight.  Oh,  yes,  I  can  afford  to  tell  you 
now  that  the  work  is  accomplished.  You  shall  have  no 
opportunity  of  communicating  with  your  friends.  I  shaU 


382  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN" 

not  sleep  tonight.  Nor  will  you  leave  this  house.  There 
is  a  kneans  of  holding  you  here.  A  means  which  will 
never  be  far  from  my  hand."  She  tapped  the  bosom  of 
her  dress  significantly,  and  Joan  understood  that  she  had 
armed  herself.  "  The  arrest  will  be  made  while  they  are 
still  sleeping  in  that  old  fort  of  theirs — and  your  young 
Buck  will  pay  the  penalty  if  he  interferes.  Yes,  yes,"  she 
added,  rubbing  her  lean,  almost  skeleton  hands  together 
in  an  access  of  satisfaction,  "  when  you  sip  your  coffee 
in  the  morning,  my  girl,  your  Buck's  foster-father  will 
be  on  his  way  to  the  jail  from  which  he  will  only 
emerge  for  the  comfort  of  an  electric  chair.  I  have  en- 
dured twenty  years  of  mental  torture,  but — I  have  not 
endured  them  in  vain." 

The  cold,  consummate  completeness  with  which  the 
woman  detailed  her  carefully  considered  plans  turned 
Joan's  heart  to  stone,  It  chilled  her  and  left  her  shiver- 
ing in  the  awful  heat.  For  one  moment,  one  weak  mo- 
ment when  her  woman's  spirit  quailed  before  the  deadly 
array  of  facts,  she  felt  faint,  and  one  hand  sought  the  table 
for  support.  But  with  a  tremendous  effort  she  recovered 
herself.  It  was  the  thought  of  Buck  which  helped  her. 
She  could  not  let  him  fall  into  the  trap  so  well  laid  by 
this — this  creature,  without  an  effort  to  save  them  both. 
In  a  flash  her  mind  pictured  the  scene  of  the  Padre's  cap- 
ture. She  saw  the  fort  surrounded  by  the  "  deputies." 
She  saw  the  Padre  shackled  before  he  could  rise  from  his 
blankets.  She  saw  Buck,  under  cover  of  ruthless  firearms, 
hurl  himself  to  the  rescue  and  pay  for  his  temerity  with 
his  life.  In  a  sudden  overwhelming  passion  of  appeal  she 
flung  herself  on  her  knees  before  the  terrible  old  woman, 

"  Aunt,  aunt ! "   she  cried.     "  You  cannot  be  so  heart. 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH  383 

less,  so  cruel.  There  is  a  mistake.  You  are  mistaken. 
The  Padre  swears  to  his  innocence,  and  if  you  knew  him 
as  I  know  him,  as  all  this  countryside  knows  him,  you 
must  believe.  He  is  not  capable  of  murder.  My  father 
committed  suicide.  Think,  think  of  all  that  went  before 
his  death,  and  you,  too,  will  see  that  everything  points  to 
suicide.  Oh,  aunt,  think  of  what  you  are  doing.  The 
plans  you  have  made  must  involve  the  man  I  love.  A 
perfectly  innocent  man,  as  even  you  know.  If  my  father 
was  all  your  world,  so  is  Buck  all  mine.  He  will  defend 
the  Padre.  I  know  him.  And  as  you  say  he  will  pay  the 
penalty  with  his  life,  if  you  have  one  grain  of  pity,  if 
you  have  one  remaining  thought  of  love  for  my  dead 
father,  then  spare  this  man  to  his  daughter.  Where  is  the 
right  that  you  should  involve  Buck  ?  You  do  net  even 
know  him.  Oh,  aunt,  you  have  lived  all  these  twenty 
years  with  me.  In  your  own  way  you  have  cared  for  me. 
Sacrifice  your  enmity  against  this  innocent  man.  It  will 
give  you  a  peace  of  mind  you  have  never  known  before, 
and  will  give  me  the  happiness  of  the  man  I  love." 

Mercy's  ^yes  lit  with  fine  scorn  as  she  caught  at  Joan's 
final  words. 

"  The  happiness  of  the  man  you  love  ! "  she  cricil  with 
passionate  anger,  ''Why  should  I  give  you  your  man's 
love  ?  Why  should  I  help  any  woman  to  a  happiness  I 
have  never  been  allowed  to  taste?  Perhaps  it  pleases 
me  to  think  that  your  Buck  vvill  be  involved.  Have  I  not 
warned  you  of  the  disaster  which  you  have  permitted  him  to 
court  ?  Listen,  girl,  not  one  detail  of  all  that  which  I  have 
waited  for  will  I  forego.  Not  one  detail.  When  it  is  ac- 
complished nothing  on  earth  matters  to  me.  The  sooner 
I  am  off  it  the  better.  The  sooner  I  leave  this  world  for 


384  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

other  realms  the  sooner  I  shall  be  able  to  pursue  those 
others  who  have  injured  me  and  passed  on  to — a  fresh 
habitation.  Do  you  understand?  Do  you  understand 
that  I  will  brook  no  interference  from  you  ?  Peace,  child, 
I  want  no  more  talk.  When  this  night  is  over  I  leave 
here — nor  shall  I  ever  willingly  cross  your  path  again. 
You  are  another  woman's  child,  and  so  long  as  you  live, 
so  long  as  we  are  brought  into  contact,  the  sting  of  the 
past  must  ever  remain  in  my  heart.  Go  to  your  bed,  and 
leave  me  to  watch  and  wait  until  the  morning." 

The  old  woman's  domination  was  strong — it  was  so 
strong  that  Joan  felt  appalled  before  the  terrible  mental 
force  she  was  putting  forth.  The  horror  of  her  diseased 
mind  sickened  her,  and  filled  her  with  something  closely 
allied  to  terror.  But  she  would  not  submit.  Her  love 
was  greater  than  her  courage,  her  power  to  resist  for 
herself.  She  was  thinking  of  those  two  men,  but  most 
of  all  she  was  thinking  of  Buck.  She  was  determined 
upon  another  effort.  And  when  that  effort  was  spent — 
upon  still  another. 

"  Listen  to  me,  aunt,"  she  cried  with  no  longer  any 
attempt  at  appeal,  with  no  longer  any  display  of  regard 
for  this  woman  as  a  relation.  u  I  am  mistress  in  my  own 
house,  and  I  shall  do  as  I  choose.  I,  too,  shall  sit  up  and 
you  will  have  to  listen  to  me." 

Mercy  smiled  ironically. 

"  Yes,  you  are  mistress  in  your  own  house,  so  long  as 
you  do  not  attempt  to  interfere  with  my  plans.  Sit 
up,  girl,  if  you  choose,  and  talk.  I  am  prepared  to  listen 
even  though  your  twaddle  bores  me." 

A  sound  caught  Joan's  attention,  and  the  desperate 
position  of  her  lover  and  his  friend  set  thought  flashing 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH  385 

swiftly  through  her  mind.  The  sound  was  of  Mrs.  Rans- 
ford  moving  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Then  listen  to  this,"  she  cried.  "  You  have  told  me 
that  I  am  cursed.  You  have  told  me  that  death  and 
disaster  must  follow  me  wherever  I  go.  I  love  Buck.  It 
is  the  first  and  only  time  I  shall  ever  love.  I  know  that. 
He  is  the  love  of  my  whole  life.  Without  him,  without 
his  love,  life  to  me  is  inconceivable.  He  and  his  love  are 
so  precious  to  me  that  I  would  give  my  life  for  his  at  any 
moment — now,  if  need  be.  I  want  you  to  know  that. 
You  have  armed  yourself  so  that  I  shall  not  interfere  with 
your  plans.  I  tell  you  it  is  useless,  for  I  shall  warn  him 
— cost  me  what  it  may." 

She  watched  the  other  closely.  She  watched  for  the 
effect  of  her  words — every  one  of  which  was  spoken 
from  the  bottom  of  her  heart.  The  effect  was  what  she 
anticipated.  She  knew  this  woman's  expressed  intention 
was  deliberate,  and  would  be  carried  out.  One  hand 
moved  toward  her  lean  bosom,  and  Joan  knew,  without 
doubt,  what  she  had  to  face.  Turning  her  back  deliber- 
ately she  moved  across  to  the  window,  which  was  wide 
open  in  a  vain  attempt  to  cool  the  superheated  room,  and 
took  up  her  place  near  the  table,  so  that  she  was  in  full 
view  of  her  aunt's  insane  eyes.  Then  she  went  on  at 
once  — 

"  You  call  it  justice  that  you  would  mete  out  to  the 
Padre.  I  tell  you  it  is  a  ruthless,  cold-hearted  revenge, 
which  amounts  to  deliberate  murder.  It  is  murder  be- 
cause you  know  he  cannot  prove  his  innocence.  That, 
perhaps,  is  your  affair.  But  Buck's  life  is  mine.  And 
in  threatening  the  Padre  you  threaten  him,  because  he 
will  defend  his  friend  to  the  last.  Perhaps  by  this,  in 


386  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

your  insane  vanity,  you  hope  to  justify  yourself  as  a  seer 
and  prophetess,  instead  of  being  forced  to  the  admission 
that  you  are  nothing  but  a  mountebank,  an  unscrupulous 
mountebank — and  even  worse.  But  I  will  humor  you. 
I  will  show  you  how  your  own  words  are  coming  back 
on  you.  I  had  almost  forgotten  them,  so  lost  was  I  in 
my  foolish  belief  in  your  powers.  You  told  me  there  was 
salvation  for  me  in  a  love  that  was  stronger  than  death. 
Well,  I  have  found  that  love.  And  if,  as  you  claim,  there 
is  truth  in  your  science,  then  I  challenge  you,  the  disaster 
and  death  you  would  now  bring  about  cannot — will  not 
take  place.  You  are  only  a  woman  of  earthly  powers,  a 
heartless  creature,  half  demented  by  your  venomous 
hatred  of  a  good  man.  Your  ends  can,  and  will  be  de- 
feated." 

She  paused,  breathing  hard  with  the  emotion  which 
the  effort  of  her  denunciation  had  inspired,  and  in  that 
pause  she  beheld  a  vision  of  devilish  hatred  and  purpose 
such  as  she  could  never  have  believed  possible  in  her 
aunt. 

"  You  would  rebel !  You  challenge  me ! "  cried 
Mercy,  springing  from  her  chair  with  a  movement  almost 
unbelievable  in  so  ailing  a  creature.  "You  are  mad — 
utterly  mad.  It  is  not  I  who  am  insane,  but  you — you. 
You  call  me  a  mountebank.  What  has  your  life  been  ? 
Has  not  everything  I  have  told  you  been  part  of  it  ? 
Even  here — here.  Did  I  not  tell  you  you  could  not 
escape  your  curse  ?  Have  you  escaped  it  ?  And  you 
think  you  can  escape  it  now."  She  laughed  suddenly,  a 
hideous  laugh  which  set  Joan  shuddering.  "The  love 
you  have  found  must  prove  itself.  You  say  it  is  the  love 
that  will  save  you.  I  tell  you  it  is  not.  Nothing  can 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH  387 

save  this  man  now.  Nothing  can  save  your  Buck  if  he 
interferes  now.  Nothing  can  save  you,  if  you  interfere 
now.  I  tell  you  I  have  taken  every  care  that  there  is  no 
loophole  of  escape.  No  earthly  power  can  serve  you." 

"No  earthly  power?"  Joan  echoed  the  words  uncon- 
sciously, while  she  stood  fascinated  by  that  terrible  face  so 
working  with  malignant  hatred. 

But  only  for  a  moment  it  held  her.  Her  love  was 
stronger  that  all  her  woman's  fears.  Her  Buck  was  in 
danger,  and  that  other.  The  warning.  She  must  get 
that  warning  to  them. 

Suddenly  she  leant  forward  upon  the  table  as  though 
to  emphasize  what  she  had  to  say. 

"  Whatever  happens  to-night,  aunt,"  she  cried,  her  big 
eyes  glowing  in  a  growing  excitement,  her  red-gold  hair 
shining  like  burnished  copper  in  the  light  from  the  lamp 
which  was  so  near  to  it,  "  I  hope  God  may  forgive  you 
this  terrible  wicked  spirit  which  is  driving  you.  Some 
day  I  may  find  it  in  my  heart  to  forgive  you.  That  which 
I  have  to  do  you  are  driving  me  to,  and  I  pray  God  I 
may  succeed." 

As  the  last  word  left  her  lips  she  seized  the  lamp  from 
the  table,  and,  with  all  her  strength,  hurled  it  through  the 
open  window.  As  it  sped  it  extinguished  itself  and 
crashed  to  the  ground  outside,  leaving  the  room  in  utter 
darkness.  At  the  same  instant  she  sprang  to  the  sill 
of  the  open  window,  and  flung  herself  from  the  room. 
As  she,  too,  fell  to  the  ground  a  shot  rang  out  behind 
her,  and  she  felt  the  bullet  tear  through  her  masses  of 
coiled  hair. 

But  her  excitement  was  at  fever  heat.  She  waited  for 
nothing.  Her  lover's  life  was  claiming  every  nerve  in 


388  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

her  body.  His  life,  and  that  other's.  She  scrambled  to 
her  feet  and  dodged  clear  of  the  window,  just  as  a  chorus 
of  harsh  execration  reached  her  ears.  She  looked  toward 
the  barns  and  hay  corrals  whence  the  sound  came,  and, 
on  the  instant,  a  hideous  terror  seized  upon  her.  The 
barn  was  afire  !  The  hay  had  just  been  fired  !  And,  in 
the  inky  blackness  of  the  night,  the  ruddy  glow  leapt 
suddenly  and  lit  up  the  figures  of  a  crowd  of  men,  now 
shouting  and  blaspheming  at  the  result  of  the  shot  from 
the  house. 

For  one  moment  Joan  stood  still,  trembling  in  every 
limb,  heedless  of  the  vengeful  creature  behind  her.  She 
was  overwhelmed  by  the  now  utter  and  complete  hope- 
lessness of  her  case.  Her  horses  were  in  the  barn  which 
had  been  fired.  And  they  were  her  only  means  of  reach- 
ing her  lover. 

Then  in  a  moment,  as  she  beheld  the  shouting  crowd 
coming  toward  the  house,  voicing  their  intent  to  burn 
that,  along  with  its  occupants,  her  mind  went  back  to 
those  still  within.  The  wretched  woman,  whose  death 
by  burning  might  save  the  Padre,  and  her  rough  but 
faithful  housekeeper.  Regardless  of  all  consequences  to 
herself,  now  regardless  even  of  the  lives  of  those  two  men 
she  had  hoped  to  save,  she  ran  back  to  the  house. 

Flight  alone  could  save  the  women  inside  from  this 
drunken  crowd.  Flight — and  at  once.  For,  resentful  at 
the  shot  which  had  felled  one  of  their  comrades,  the  law- 
less minds  of  these  creatures  saw  but  one  course  to  pursue. 
Well  enough  Joan  knew  their  doctrine  of  a  life  for  a  life. 
She  must  go  back.  She  must  save  those  two  from  this 
ravening  horde. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  TEMPEST  BREAKS 

BUCK  moved  out  of  Caesar's  stall.  He  had  just  finished 
lightly  securing  the  double  cinchas  of  his  saddle.  The 
bulging  saddle-bags  had  been  made  fast  behind  the  cantle 
and  the  wallets  strapped  upon  the  horn.  Now  the  great 
animal  was  hungrily  devouring  an  added  feed  of  oats 
which  his  master  had  poured  into  its  manger. 

The  man  glanced  over  the  equipments,  and  moved  to 
the  other  end  of  the  stable,  where  stood  the  Padre's 
heavily  built  chestnut.  It,  too,  was  ready  saddled  as 
though  for  a  journey.  Here  again  the  saddle-bags  and 
wallets  had  been  filled  and  adjusted.  Here  again  the 
creature  was  devouring  an  extra  feed. 

Buck  heaved  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  and  turned  away  to 
where  the  lantern  was  hanging  on  a  nail  in  the  wooden 
wall.  Close  beside  this  a  belt,  loaded  down  with  revolver 
ammunition,  and  carrying  two  holsters  from  which  the 
butts  of  a  pair  of  heavy  revolvers  protruded,  was  sus- 
pended from  another  nail.  This  he  took  down  and 
strapped  about  his  waist. 

His  work  for  the  night  was  done,  and  all  his  prepara- 
tions made.  The  night  itself  must  direct  the  further 
course  of  action  for  him.  As  far  as  he  could  see  he  had 
prepared  for  every  possible  development,  but,  as  he  ad- 
mitted to  himself,  he  could  only  see  from  his  own  point  of 
view.  He  was  at  work  against  two  opposing  forces. 


390  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

There  was  the  law  and  Bob  Richards  on  the  one  hand, 
and,  on  the  other,  the  Padre,  with  a  determination  equal 
to  his  own.  Of  the  two,  he  felt  that  the  redoubtable  Bob, 
backed  by  the  law,  would  be  far  the  easier  to  deal  with. 

This  night,  he  anticipated,  was  to  be  the  last  he  spent 
in  that  old  fort.  He  more  than  anticipated  it ;  he  felt 
certain.  He  had  heard  early  in  the  day  of  the  return  of 
Joan's  Aunt  Mercy,  and  this  was  an  all-sufficient  reason 
for  his  belief.  Since  that  moment  he  had  completed  every 
preparation  which  before  he  had  only  tentatively  con- 
sidered ;  and  such  matters  had  been  attended  to  entirely 
independent  of  his  friend. 

This  had  to  be.  It  was  useless  to  inform  him  of  any- 
thing, worse  than  useless,  until  the  last  moment,  when  he 
intended  that  his  schemes  should  be  executed  to  the  last 
detail.  After  much  painful  thought  he  had  finally  decided 
upon  coercion  to  gain  his  ends.  No  mere  bluff,  but  a 
straightforward,  honest  declaration  of  his  intentions.  It 
was  very  hurtful  that  he  must  do  this  thing.  But  he  could 
not  help  it.  He  had  resolved  on  saving  his  friend  from 
himself,  and  no  considerations  of  personal  feelings  or,  in 
fact,  anybody's  feelings,  should  be  allowed  to  stand  in  his 
way.  He  regarded  his  duty  as  a  man,  and  not  as  a  law- 
abiding  citizen.  He  had  no  real  understanding  of  the  law. 
His  was  the  only  law  that  guided  him,  and  his  law  de- 
manded of  him,  rightly  or  wrongly,  the  defense  from  all 
harm  of  those  whom  he  loved. 

His  manhood  dictated  this,  and  he  had  no  thought  of 
personal  danger,  or  toward  what  painful  destiny  it  might 
carry  him.  The  future  belonged  to  the  future,  life  and 
death  were  things  of  no  more  account  than  waking  to 
daylight,  or  the  profound  slumbers. of  night.  Those  who 


THE  TEMPEST  BREAKS  391 

would  injure  him  or  his  friend  must  be  dealt  with  in  the 
only  way  he  understood.  To  outwit  them  was  his  first 
thought,  but  he  must  defeat  their  ends  if  it  cost  him  his 
life. 

This  was  the  man  who  had  learned  from  the  book  of 
Life,  as  it  is  written  in  the  earth's  rough  places.  He  was 
not  naturally  desperate,  but,  as  with  the  creatures  of  the 
forests,  which  had  taught  him  so  many  lessons,  when 
brought  to  bay  in  defense  of  their  own,  so  he  was  ready 
to  bare  his  teeth — and  use  them. 

He  reached  for  the  lantern  with  the  thought  of  extin- 
guishing it.  But  he  changed  his  mind.  There  was  no 
window  that  the  light  might  become  a  beacon.  He  would 
close  the  door  and  leave  it  burning. 

He  turned  to  pass  out,  but  remained  where  he  was.  The 
Padre  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  and  his  steady  eyes 
were  upon  the  saddled  horses. 

Buck  had  no  word  of  greeting  to  offer.  His  dark  eyes 
were  intently  fixed  upon  the  other's  face.  In  a  moment 
his  friend  turned  to  him. 

"  It's  just  on  nine,  Buck,"  he  said,  in  his  kindest  fashion. 
"  We  haven't  eaten  yet — it's  ready." 

It  was  Buck's  turn  to  glance  over  at  the  horses  so  busily 
eating  their  oats.  A  curious  smile  lit  his  eyes.  He  knew 
well  enough  that  the  other  had  more  than  fathomed  the 
meaning  of  those  preparations.  He  was  glad  he  had  made 
no  attempt  to  conceal  them.  That  sort  of  thing  was  never 
his  way.  He  had  nothing  to  conceal  from  his  friend. 

"  I  had  a  few  chores  to  git  fixed,"  he  said  easily,  indicat- 
ing the  horses.  "  They'll  sure  need  a  good  feed  before 
daylight,  I  guess." 

The  Padre  pointed  at  his  belt  and  revolvers. 


392  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  And  you're  sleeping  in — them." 

"  Guess  I'm  not  sleepin' — to-night." 

"  No — I  suppose  not." 

The  Padre  looked  into  the  strong  young  face  with  a 
speculative  glance. 

Buck  returned  his  look  with  a  sudden  eagerness. 

"  You  heard  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  I've  heard — Mercy  is  back." 

Buck  watched  him  turn  away  to  continue  his  survey  of 
the  horses. 

"  So  have  you — I  s'pose,"  the  older  man  went  on  a  mo- 
ment later,  indicating  the  horses. 

"Yep.  Guess  they'll  need  to  do  a  long  journey  soon. 
Mebbe— to-night." 

"  Caesar  ?  "  said  the  Padre. 

"  Both,"  returned  Buck,  with  an  emphasis,  the  meaning 
of  which  could  not  well  be  missed. 

The  Padre's  eyes  were  smiling.  He  glanced  round  the 
tumbled-down  old  barn.  They  had  contrived  to  house 
their  horses  very  comfortably,  and  Buck  kept  them 
wonderfully  cared  for.  These  things  appealed  to  him  in 
a  way  that  made  him  regret  many  things 

"Who's  riding — my  plug?"  the  Padre  asked  deliber- 
ately. 

Buck  shrugged. 

"  Why  ask  ? "  he  said  doggedly.  "  Who  generally 
does  ?  I  don't  seem  to  guess  we  need  beat  around,"  he 
went  on  impatiently.  "  That  ain't  bin  our  way,  Padre. 
Guess  those  hosses  are  ready  for  us.  They'll  be  ready 
night  an'  day — till  the  time  comes.  Then — wal,  we're 
both  goin'  to  use  'em." 

The  younger  man's  impatience  had  no  disturbing  effect 


THE  TEMPEST  BREAKS  393 

upon  the  other.     But  his  smile  deepened  to  a  great  look 
of  affection. 

"  Still  chewin'  that  bone  ?  "  he  said.  Then  he  shook  his 
head.  "  What's  the  use  ?  We're  just  men,  you  and  I  ; 
we  got  our  own  way  of  seeing  things.  Twenty  years  ago 
maybe  I'd  have  seen  things  your  way.  Twenty  years 
hence  no  doubt  you'll  see  things  mine " 

"  Jest  so,"  Buck  broke  in,  his  eyes  lighting,  and  a  strong 
note  suddenly  adding  force  to  his  interruption.  "But 
I'm  not  waithV  twenty  years  so's  to  see  things  diff'rent." 

"  That's  what  I  should  have  said — twenty  years  ago." 

Buck's  face  suddenly  flushed,  and  his  dark  brows  drew 
together  as  he  listened  to  the  calm  words  of  his  friend. 
In  a  moment  his  answer  was  pouring  from  his  lips  in  a 
hot  tide  which  swept  his  hearer  along  and  made  him  re- 
joice at  the  bond  which  existed  between  them.  Nor,  in 
those  moments,  could  he  help  feeling  glad  for  that  day 
when  he  had  found  the  hungry  wayfarer  at  the  trail-side. 

"Ther's  more  than  twenty  years  between  us,  sure," 
Buck  cried  with  intense  feeling.  "  Nuthin'  can  alter  that, 
an*  ther's  sure  nuthin'  can  make  us  see  out  o'  the  same 
eyes,  nor  feel  with  the  same  feelin's.  Ther's  nuthin'  can 
make  things  seem  the  same  to  us.  I  know  that,  an'  it 
ain't  no  use  you  tellin'  me.  Guess  we're  made  diff'rent 
that  way — an'  I  allow  it's  as  well.  If  we  weren't,  wal,  I 
guess  neither  of  us  would  have  things  right.  See  here, 
Padre,  you  give  most  everything  to  me  you  could,  ever 
since  you  brought  me  along  to  the  farm.  That's  because 
it's  your  way  to  give.  I  hadn't  nuthin'  to  give.  I  haven't 
nuthin'  to  give  now.  I  can't  even  give  way.  Guess  you 
can,  though,  because  it's  your  nature,  and  because  I'm 
askin'  it.  Padre,  I'm  goin'  to  act  mean.  I'm  goin'  to  act 


394  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

so  mean  it'll  hurt  you.  But  it  won't  hurt  you  more  than 
it'll  hurt  me.  Mebbe  it  won't  jest  hurt  you  so  much. 
But  I'm  goin'  to  act  that  way — because  it's  my  way — 
when  I'm  set  up  agin  it.  You're  settin'  me  up  agin  it 
now." 

He  paused,  vainly  watching  the  other's  steady  eyes  for 
a  sign. 

"  Go  on."     The  Padre's  smile  was  undiminished. 

Buck  made  an  impatient  movement,  and  pointed  at  the 
horses. 

"See  them?  Ther'  they  stand,"  he  cried.  "Ther' 
they'll  sure  stand  till  we  both  set  out  for  the  long  trail.  I 
got  it  all  fixed.  I  got  more  than  that  fixed.  See  these 
guns?"  He  tapped  one  of  the  guns  at  his  waist.  "They're 
loaded  plumb  up.  The  belt's  full  of  shots.  I  got  two  re- 
peatin'  rifles  stowed  away,  an3  their  magazines  are  loaded 
plumb  up,  too.  Wai — unless  you  say  right  here  you're 
goin'  to  hit  the  trail  with  me,  when — things  get  busy  ;  un- 
less you  tell  me  right  out  you're  goin'  to  let  me  square  off 
jest  a  bit  of  the  score  you  got  chalked  up  agin  me  all 
these  years  by  lettin'  me  help  you  out  in  this  racket,  then 
I'm  goin4  to  set  right  out  ther'  by  the  old  stockade,  and 
when  Bob  Richards  gets  around,  he  an'  as  many  of  his 
dogone  dep'ties  as  I  can  pull  down  are  goin'  to  get  their 
med'cine.  They'll  need  to  take  me  with  you,  Padre. 
Guess  I'm  sharin'  that  '  chair '  with  you,  if  they  don't 
hand  it  me  before  I  get  ther'.  What  I'm  say  in'  goes, 
every  word  of  it.  This  thing  goes,  jest  as  sure  as  I'll 
blow  Bob  Richards  to  hell  before  he  lays  hand  on  you." 

The  younger  man's  eyes  shone  with  a  passionate  deter- 
mination. There  was  no  mistaking  it.  His  was  a  fanat- 
ical loyalty  that  was  almost  staggering. 


THE  TEMPEST  BREAKS  395 

The  Padre  drew  a  sharp  breath.  He  had  not  studied 
this  youngster  for  all  those  years  without  understanding 
something  of  the  recklessness  he  was  capable  of.  Buck's 
lips  were  tightly  compressed,  his  thin  nostrils  dilating  with 
the  intense  feeling  stirring  him.  His  cheeks  were  pale, 
and  his  dark  eyes  flashed  their  burning  light  in  the  dim 
glow  of  the  lantern.  He  stood  with  hands  gripping,  and 
the  muscles  of  his  bare  arms  writhed  beneath  the  skin 
with  the  force  with  which  they  clenched.  He  was  strung 
to  an  emotion  such  as  the  Padre  had  never  before  seen  in 
him,  and  it  left  the  older  man  wavering. 

He  glanced  away. 

"  Aren't  we  worrying  this  thing  on  the  crossways?"  he 
said,  endeavoring  to  disguise  his  real  feelings. 

But  Buck  would  have  none  of  it.  He  was  in  no  mood 
for  evasion.  In  no  mood  for  anything  but  the  straightest 
of  straight  talk. 

"Ther's  no  crosswise  to  me,"  he  cried  bluntly,  with  a 
heat  that  might  almost  have  been  taken  for  anger.  Then, 
in  a  moment,  his  manner  changed.  His  tone  softened, 
and  the  drawn  brows  smoothed.  "  Say,  you  bin  better' n 
a  father  to  me.  You  sure  have.  Can  I  stand  around  an* 
see  you  passed  over  to  a  low-down  sort  o'  law  that  con- 
demns innocent  folks?  No,  Padre,  not — not  even  for 
Joan's  sake.  I  jest  love  that  little  Joan,  Padre.  I  love  her 
so  desprit  bad  I'd  do  most  anything  for  her  sake.  You 
reckon  this  thing  needs  doin'  for  her."  He  shook  his 
head.  "It  don't.  An'  if  it  did,  an'  she  jest  wanted  it 
done — which  she  don't — I'd  butt  in  to  stop  it.  Say,  I 
love  her  that  way  I  want  to  fix  her  the  happiest  gal  in 
this  country — in  the  world.  But  if  seein'  you  go  to  the 
law  without  raisin'  a  hand  to  stop  it  was  to  make  her 


396  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

happy,  guess  her  chances  that  way  'ud  be  so  small  you 
couldn't  never  find  'em.  If  my  life  figures  in  her  happi- 
ness, an'  I'm  savin'  that  life  while  you  take  your  chance  of 
penitentiary  an' — the  '  chair/  wal,  I  guess  she'll  go  mis- 
erable fer  jest  as  many  years  as  she  goes  on  living." 

The  Padre  turned  away.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to 
longer  face  those  earnest  young  eyes  pleading  to  be 
allowed  to  give  their  life  for  his  liberty.  The  reckless 
prodigality  of  the  youngster's  heart  filled  him  with  an 
emotion  that  would  not  be  denied.  He  moved  over  to 
where  Caesar  stood,  and  smoothed  the  great  creature's 
silky  quarters  with  a  shaking  hand.  Buck's  storming  he 
could  have  withstood,  but  not — this. 

The  other  followed  his  every  movement,  as  a  beggar 
watches  for  the  glance  of  sympathy.  And  as  the  mo- 
ments passed,  and  the  Padre  remained  silent,  his  voice, 
keyed  sharply,  further  urged  him. 

"Wal?" 

But  the  other  was  thinking,  thinking  rapidly  of  all  those 
things  which  his  conscience,  and  long  years  of  weary  hid- 
ing prompted.  He  was  trying  to  adapt  his  focus  anew. 
His  duty  had  seemed  so  plain  to  him.  Then,  too,  his  in- 
clination had  been  at  work.  His  intention  had  not  seemed 
a  great  sacrifice  to  him.  He  was  weary  of  it  all — these 
years  of  avoiding  his  fellows.  These  years  during  which 
his  mind  had  been  thrown  back  upon  the  thought  of 
whither  all  his  youthful,  headlong  follies  and — cowardice 
had  driven  him.  Strong  man  as  he  was,  something  of  his 
strength  had  been  undermined  by  the  weary  draining  of 
those  years.  He  no  longer  had  that  desire  to  escape, 
which,  in  youth,  had  urged  him.  He  was  almost  anxious 
to  face  his  accusers.  And  with  that  thought  he  knew  that 


THE  TEMPEST  BREAKS  397 

he  was  getting  old.  Yes,  he  was  getting  old — and  Buck — 
Buck  was  almost  his  son.  He  could  not  see  the  boy's 
young  life  thrown  away  for  him,  a  life  so  full  of  promise, 
so  full  of  quiet  happiness.  He  knew  that  that  would  hap- 
pen if  he  persisted.  He  knew  that  every  word  of  Buck's 
promise  would  be  carried  out  to  the  letter.  That  was  his 
way.  There  was  no  alternative  left  now  but  for  him  to 
give  way.  So  he  turned  back  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  What  you  say — goes,"  he  said  huskily.  "  I — I  hope 
what  we're  doing  is  right." 

Buck  caught  the  strong  hand  in  his,  and  the  other 
winced  under  his  grip. 

"  Right  ?  "  he  cried,  his  eyes  shining  with  a  great  .happi- 
ness. "  Right  ?  You'll  save  that  old  woman  the  worst 
crime  on  earth.  You're  savin'  the  law  from  a  crime  which 
it's  no  right  to  commit.  You're  handin'  little  Joan  a  hap- 
piness you  can't  even  guess  at  in  keepin'  your  liberty — 
an'  me,  wal,  you're  handin'  me  back  my  life.  Say,  I  ain't 
goin'  to  thank  you,  Padre.  I  don't  guess  I  know  how. 
That  ain't  our  way."  He  laughed  happily.  "  Guess  the 
score  you  got  agin  me  is  still  mountin'  right  up.  I  don't 
never  seem  to  git  it  squared,  Wal,  we'll  let  it  go.  Maybe 
it's  almost  a  pity  Bob  Richards  won't  never  have  the 
chance  of  thanking  you  for — savin'  his  life,  too." 

The  delight  in  his  manner,  his  shining  joy  were  almost 
sufficient  recompense  to  the  Padre.  He  had  given  way 
to  this  youngster  as  he  always  gave  way.  It  had  been 
so  from  the  first.  Yes,  it  was  always  so,  and — he  was 
glad. 

Buck  turned  toward  the  door,  and,  as  he  did  so,  his 
arm  affectionately  linked  into  that  of  his  friend. 

"  We'll  need  that  supper,  Padre,"  he  said,  more  soberly. 


398  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  There's  a  long  night,  and  it  ain't  easy  to  guess  what  may 
happen  before  daylight.  Come  right  along." 

They  passed  the  doorway,  but  proceeded  no  farther. 
Buck  held  up  his  hand,  and  they  stood  listening. 

"  Wait !  Hark  !  "  he  cried,  and  both  turned  their  eyes 
toward  the  westward  hills. 

As  they  stood,  a  low,  faint  growl  of  thunder  murmured 
down  the  distant  hillsides,  and  died  away  in  the  long- 
drawn  sigh  of  a  rising  wind.  The  wind  swept  on,  and  the 
rustling  trees  and  suddenly  creaking  branches  of  the 
forest  answered  that  sharp,  keen  breath. 

"  It's  coming — from  the  northwest,"  said  the  Padre,  as 
though  the  direction  were  significant. 

"Yes."  Buck  nodded  with  understanding.  " That's 
wher'  the  other  come  from." 

They  stood  for  some  moments  waiting  for  a  further 
sign.  But  nothing  came.  The  night  was  pitch  black. 
There  was  no  break  anywhere  in  the  sky.  The  lamplight 
in  the  house  stared  out  sharp  and  clear,  but  the  house 
itself,  as  with  the  barns  and  other  outbuildings,  the 
stockade,  even  the  line  of  the  tree  tops  where  they  met 
the  sky,  was  quite  lost  in  the  inky  night. 

"  It'll  come  quick,"  said  the  Padre. 

"Sure." 

They  moved  on  to  the  house,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
were  sitting  down  to  one  of  those  silent  meals  which  was 
so  much  a  part  of  their  habit.  Yet  each  man  was  alert. 
Each  man  was  thinking  of  those  things  which  they  knew 
to  be  threatening.  Each  man  was  ready  for  what  might 
be  forthcoming.  Be  it  tempest  or  disaster,  be  it  battle  or 
death,  each  was  ready  to  play  his  part,  each  was  ready 
to  accept  the  verdict  as  it  might  be  given. 


THE  TEMPEST  BREAKS  399 

Buck  was  the  first  to  push  back  from  the  table.  He  rose 
from  his  seat  and  lit  his  pipe.  Then,  as  the  pungent 
fumes  lolled  heavily  on  the  superheated  air,  he  passed 
over  to  the  open  window  and  took  his  seat  upon  the 
sill. 

The  Padre  was  more  leisurely.  He  remained  in  his 
seat  and  raked  out  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  with  the  care  of  a 
keen  smoker.  Then  he  cut  his  tobacco  carefully  from  his 
plug,  and  rolled  it  thoughtfully  in  the  palms  of  his  hands* 

"  Say,  about  little  Joan,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  Will  she 
join  us  on ?  " 

His  question  remained  unfinished.  At  that  instant 
Buck  sprang  from  his  seat  and  leant  out  of  the  window. 
The  Padre  was  at  his  side  in  an  instant. 

"What ?" 

"  Holy  Mackinaw !  Look ! "  cried  Buck,  in  an  awed  tone. 

He  was  pointing  with  one  arm  outstretched  in  a  direc- 
tion where  the  ruined  stockade  had  fallen,  leaving  a  great 
gaping  space.  The  opening  was  sharply  silhouetted 
against  a  wide  glow  of  red  and  yellow  light,  which,  as 
they  watched,  seemed  to  grow  brighter  with  each  passing 
moment. 

Each  man  was  striving  to  grasp  the  full  significance  of 
what  he  beheld.  It  was  fire.  It  needed  no  second  thought 
to  convince  them  of  that  But  where — what  ?  It  was 
away  across  the  valley,  beyond  the  further  lip  which  rose 
in  a  long,  low  slope.  It  was  to  the  left  of  Devil's  Hill, 
but  very  little.  For  that,  too,  was  dimly  silhouetted,  even 
at  that  distance. 

The  Padre  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  It's  big.  But  it's  not  the  camp,"  he  said.  "  Maybe 
it's  the— forest." 


400  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

For  a  moment  Buck  made  no  answer.  But  a  growing 
look  of  alarm  was  in  his  straining  eyes. 

"  It's  not  a  prairie  fire,"  the  Padre  went  on.  "  There's 

not  enough  grass  that  way.  Say,  d'you  think "  A 

sudden  fear  had  leapt  into  his  eyes,  too,  and  his  question 
remained  unfinished. 

Buck  stirred.  He  took  a  deep  breath.  The  alarm  in 
his  eyes  had  suddenly  possessed  his  whole  being.  Some- 
thing seemed  to  be  clutching  his  heart,  so  that  he  was  al- 
most stifled. 

"  It's  none  o'  them  things,"  he  said,  striving  to  keep 
his  voice  steady.  Then  of  a  sudden  he  reached  out,  and 
clutched  the  arm  of  his  friend,  so  that  his  powerful  fingers 
sank  deep  into  its  flesh. 

"  It's  the — farm !  "  he  cried,  in  a  tone  that  rang  with  a 
terrible  dread.  "  Come  on  !  The  hosses  1 "  And  he 
dashed  from  the  room  before  the  last  sound  of  his  voice 
had  died  out. 

The  Padre  was  hard  on  his  heels.  With  danger  abroad 
he  was  no  laggard.  Joan — poor  little  Joan  1  And  there 
were  miles  to  be  covered  before  her  lover  could  reach  her. 

But  the  dark  shadows  of  disaster  were  crowding  fast. 
Evil  was  abroad  searching  every  corner  of  the  mountain 
world  for  its  prey.  Almost  in  a  moment  the  whole  scene 
was  changed,  and  the  dull  inertia  of  past  days  was  swept 
aside  amidst  a  hurricane  of  storm  and  demoniacal  tempest. 

A  crash  of  appalling  thunder  greeted  the  ears  of  the 
speeding  men.  The  earth  seemed  to  shake  to  its  very 
foundations.  Ear-splitting  detonations  echoed  from  crag 
to  crag,  and  down  deep  into  the  valleys  and  canyons,  set- 
ting the  world  alive  with  a  sudden  chaos.  Peal  after  peal 
roared  over  the  hills,  and  the  lightning  played,  hissing  and 


THE  TEMPEST  BREAKS  401 

shrieking  upon  ironstone  crowns,  like  a  blinding  display 
of  pyrotechnics. 

There  was  no  pause  in  the  sudden  storm.  There  was 
no  mercy  for  wretched  human  nerves.  The  blinding  light 
was  one  endless  chain,  sweeping  across  the  heavens  as 
though  bent  on  forever  wresting  from  its  path  the  black 
shadows  that  defied  it. 

And  amidst  all  this  turmoil,  amidst  all  the  devastating 
roar,  which  shook  the  earth  as  though  bent  on  wrecking 
the  very  mountains  themselves,  amidst  all  the  blinding, 
hellish  light,  so  fierce,  so  intense,  that  the  last  secrets  of 
the  remotest  forest  depths  must  be  yielded  up,  two  horse- 
men dashed  down  the  trail  from  the  fur  fort  as  fast  as  sharp 
spurs  could  drive  their  eager  beasts. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  EYES   OF  THE   HILLS 

THE  thunder  roared  without  intermission.  It  rose  and 
fell,  that  was  all.  From  a  truculent  piano  it  leapt  to  a 
titanic  crescendo  only  to  find  relief  again  in  a  fierce 
growling  dissatisfaction.  It  seemed  less  of  an  elemental 
war  than  a  physical  attack  upon  a  shuddering  earth.  The 
electric  fires  rifting  the  darkness  of  this  out-world  night 
were  beyond  compare  in  their  terror.  The  radiance  of 
sunlight  might  well  have  been  less  than  the  blaze  of  a 
rush  candle  before  the  staggering  brilliancy.  It  was  wild, 
wild  and  fearsome.  It  was  vicious  and  utterly  terrifying. 

Below  the  quaking  earth  was  in  little  better  case.  Only 
was  the  scene  here  in  closer  touch  with  human  under- 
standing. Here  the  terror  was  of  earth,  here  disaster  was 
of  human  making.  Here  the  rack  of  heart  was  in  de- 
struction by  wanton  fire.  Shrieking,  hissing,  crackling, 
only  insignificant  by  comparison  with  the  war  of  the 
greater  elements,  flames  licked  up  and  devoured  with 
ravening  appetites  the  tinder-like  structures  of  Joan's  farm. 

The  girl  was  standing  in  the  open.  A  confined  enough 
open  space  almost  completely  surrounded  by  fire.  Before 
her  were  the  blazing  farm  buildings,  behind  her  was  the 
raging  furnace  that  once  had  been  her  home.  And  on 
one  side  of  her  the  flames  commingled  so  as  to  be  impass- 
able. Her  head  was  bowed  and  her  eyes  were  closed, 
her  hands  were  pressed  tight  over  her  ears  in  a  vain  at- 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  HILLS  403 

tempt  to  shut  out  cognizance  of  the  terror  that  reigned 
about  and  above  her.  She  stood  thus  despairing.  She 
was  afraid,  terribly  afraid. 

Beside  her  was  her  aunt,  that  strange  creature  whose 
brain  had  always  risen  superior  to  the  sufferings  of  the 
human  body.  Now  she  was  crushed  to  earth  in  mute 
submission  to  the  powers  which  overwhelmed  her.  She 
lay  huddled  upon  the  ground  utterly  lost  to  all  conscious- 
ness. Terror  had  mercifully  saved  her  from  a  contempla- 
tion of  those  things  which  had  inspired  it. 

These  two  were  alone.  The  other  woman  had  gone, 
fled  at  the  first  coming  of  that  dreaded  fiend — fire.  And 
those  others,  those  wretched,  besotted  creatures  whose 
mischief  had  brought  about  this  wanton  destruction,  they 
too  had  fled.  But  their  flight  was  in  answer  to  the  wrath- 
ful voice  of  the  heavens  which  they  feared  and  dreaded 
above  all  things  in  the  wild  world  to  which  they  belonged. 

Alone,  helpless,  almost  nerveless,  Joan  waited  that  end 
which  she  felt  could  not  long  be  delayed.  She  did  not 
know,  she  could  not  understand.  On  every  hand  was  a 
threat  so  terrible  that  in  her  weakness  she  believed  that 
life  could  not  long  last.  The  din  in  the  heavens,  the  tor- 
turing heat  so  fierce  and  painful.  The  glare  of  light  which 
penetrated  even  her  closed  eyelids,  the  choking  gasps  of 
smoke-laden,  scorching  air  with  which  she  struggled. 
Death  itself  must  come,  nor  could  it  be  far  from  her  now. 

The  wind  rushed  madly  down  from  the  hilltops.  It 
swept  over  forest  and  plain,  it  howled  through  canyon  and 
crevasse  in  its  eager  haste  to  reach  the  centre  of  the  bat- 
tle of  elements.  It  pounced  upon  the  blinding  smoke- 
cloud  and  swept  it  from  its  path  and  plunged  to  the  heart 
of  the  conflagration  with  a  shriek  and  roar  of  cruel  de- 


404  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

light.  One  breath,  like  the  breath  of  a  tornado,  and  its 
boisterous  lungs  had  sent  its  mischief  broadcast  in  the 
flash  of  an  eye.  With  a  howl  of  delight  it  tore  out  the 
blazing  roof  of  the  house,  and,  lifting  it  bodily,  hurled  it 
like  a  molten  meteor  against  the  dark  walls  of  the  ad- 
jacent pine  forest. 

Joan  saw  nothing  of  this,  she  understood  nothing.  She 
was  blind  and  deaf  to  every  added  terror.  All  she  felt, 
all  she  understood  was  storm,  storm,  always  storm.  Her 
poor  weary  brain  was  reeling,  her  heart  was  faint  with 
terror.  She  was  alive,  she  was  conscious,  but  she  might 
well  have  been  neither  in  the  paralysis  that  held  her.  It 
meant  no  more  that  that  avalanche  of  fire,  hurled  amidst 
the  resinous  woods,  had  suddenly  brought  into  existence 
the  greatest  earthly  terror  that  could  visit  the  mountain 
world ;  it  meant  no  more  to  her  that  an  added  roar  of 
wind  could  create  a  greater  peril ;  it  meant  no  more  to 
her  that,  in  a  moment,  the  whole  world  about  her  would 
be  in  a  blaze  so  that  the  burning  sacrifice  should  be  com- 
plete. Nothing  could  possibly  mean  more  to  her,  for  she 
was  at  the  limit  of  human  endurance. 

But  other  eyes,  other  brains  were  alive  to  all  these 
things,  eyes  and  minds  trained  by  a  knowledge  which 
only  that  mountain  world  could  teach.  To  them  the 
significance  was  all  absorbing,  To  them  this  new  terror 
was  a  thousandfold  more  appalling  than  all  other  storm 
and  tempest.  With  the  forest  afire  there  wras  safety  for 
neither  human  nor  beast.  With  that  forest  afire  flight 
was  well-nigh  impossible.  Writh  that  forest  afire  to  save 
any  living  creature  would  be  well-nigh  a  miracle,  and 
miracles  had  no  place  in  their  thoughts. 

Yet    those    eyes,    so    watchful,    remained    unchanged. 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  HILLS  405 

Those  straining  brains  only  strained  the  harder.  Those 
eager  hearts  knew  no  flinching  from  their  purpose,  and  if 
they  quailed  it  was  merely  at  the  natural  dread  for  those 
whom  they  were  seeking  to  succor. 

Even  in  face  of  the  added  peril  their  purpose  remained. 
The  heavens  might  roar  their  thunders,  the  lightnings 
might  blind  their  staring  eyes,  the  howling  gale  might 
strew  their  path  with  every  obstruction,  nothing  could 
change  them,  nothing  could  stop  them  but  death  itself. 

So  with  horses  a-lather  they  swept  along.  Their 
blood-stained  spurs  told  their  tale  of  invincible  determina- 
tion. These  two  men  no  longer  sat  in  their  saddles,  they 
were  leaning  far  out  of  them  over  their  racing  horses' 
necks,  urging  them  and  easing  them  by  every  trick  in  a 
horseman's  understanding.  They  were  making  a  trail 
which  soon  they  knew  would  be  a  path  of  fire.  They 
knew  that  with  every  stride  of  the  stalwart  creatures 
under  them  they  were  possibly  cutting  off  the  last  hope 
of  a  retreat  to  safety.  They  knew,  none  better,  that  once 
amidst  that  furnace  which  lay  directly  ahead  it  was  some- 
thing worse  than  an  even  chance  of  life, 

Buck  wiped  the  dripping  sweat  out  of  his  eyes  that  he 
might  get  a  clearer  view.  The  blaze  of  lightning  was  of 
no  use  to  him.  It  only  helped  to  make  obscure  that 
which  the  earthly  fires  were  struggling  to  reveal.  The 
Padre's  horse  was  abreast  of  his  saddle.  The  sturdy 
brute  was  leaving  Caesar  to  make  the  pace  while  she 
doggedly  pursued. 

"  We'll  make  it  yet !  "  shouted  Buck,  over  his  shoulder, 
amidst  the  roar  of  thunder. 

The  Padre  made  no  attempt  at  response.  He  deemed 
it  useless. 


406  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Buck  slashed  Caesar's  flanks  with  ruthless  force. 

The  blazing  farm  was  just  ahead,  as  was  also  the  roar- 
ing fire  of  the  forest.  It  was  the  latter  on  which  both 
men  were  concentrating  their  attention.  For  the  mo- 
ment its  path  lay  eastward,  away  to  the  right  of  the  trail. 
But  this  they  knew  was  merely  the  howling  force  of  the 
wind.  With  a  shift  of  direction  by  half  a  point  and  the 
gale  would  drive  it  straight  down  the  trail  they  were  on. 

The  trail  bent  away  to  the  left.  And  as  they  swung 
past  the  turn  Buck  again  shouted. 

"  Now  for  it !  " 

He  dashed  his  spurs  again  at  the  flanks  of  his  horse, 
and  the  great  beast  stretched  out  for  a  final  burst  across 
the  bridge  over  the  narrow  creek. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

FROM   OUT  OF  THE  ABYSS 

JOAN  swayed  where  she  stood.  She  stumbled  and 
fell ;  and  the  fall  went  on,  and  on,  and  on.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  she  was  rushing  down  through  endless  space 
toward  terrors  beyond  all  believing.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  a  terrific  wind  was  beating  on  her,  and  driving  her 
downward  toward  a  fiercely  storm-swept  ocean,  whose 
black,  hideous  waves  were  ever  reaching  up  to  engulf 
her. 

She  cried  out.  She  knew  she  cried  out,  and  she  knew 
she  cried  out  in  vain.  Some  one,  it  seemed  to  her,  was 
far,  far  up  above  her,  watching,  seeking  to  aid  her,  but 
powerless  to  respond  to  her  heart-broken  cries.  Still  she 
called,  and  she  knew  she  must  go  on  calling,  till  the  dark 
seas  below  drowned  the  voice  in  her  throat. 

Now  shadows  arose  about  her,  mocking,  cruel  shad- 
ows. They  were  definite  figures,  but  she  could  not 
give  them  definite  form  in  her  mind.  She  reached  out 
toward  them,  clutching  vainly  at  fluttering  shapes,  but 
ever  missing  them  in  her  headlong  career.  She  sped  on, 
buffeted  and  hurtling,  and  torn ;  on,  on,  making  that 
hideous  journey  through  space. 

Her  despairing  thoughts  flashed  at  lightning  speed 
through  her  whirling  brain.  Faster  they  came,  faster  and 
faster,  till  she  had  no  time  to  recognize,  no  power  to  hold 
them.  She  could  see  them,  yes,  she  could  literally  see 


4o8  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

them  sweep  by,  vanishing  like  shadows  in  that  black 
space  of  terror. 

Then  came  a  sudden  accession  of  sharp  stabbing  pain. 
It  seemed  to  tick  through  her  body  as  might  a  clock,  and 
each  stab  came  as  with  the  sway  of  the  pendulum,  and 
with  a  regularity  that  was  exquisite  torture.  The  stabs 
of  pain  came  quicker,  the  pendulum  was  working  faster. 
Faster  and  faster  it  swung,  and  so  the  torture  was  ever 
increasing.  Now  the  pain  was  in  her  head,  her  eyes, 
her  ears,  her  brain.  The  agony  was  excruciating.  Her 
head  was  bursting.  She  cried  louder  and  louder,  and, 
with  every  cry,  the  pain  increased  until  she  felt  she  was 
going  mad.  Then  suddenly  the  pendulum  stopped 
swinging  and  her  cries  and  her  agony  ceased,  and  all 
was  still,  silent  and  dark. 

It  might  have  been  a  moment,  or  it  might  have  been 
ages  Suddenly  this  wonderful  peace  was  disturbed.  It 
was  as  though  she  had  just  awakened  from  a  deep  re- 
freshing sleep  in  some  strange,  unfamiliar  world.  The 
darkness  remained,  but  it  was  the  darkness  of  peace. 
The  beating  wind  had  gone,  and  she  only  heard  it  sigh- 
ing afar  off.  She  was  calling  again,  but  no  longer  in 
despair.  She  was  calling  to  that  some  one  far  above  her 
with  the  certain  knowledge  that  she  would  be  answered. 
The  darkness  was  passing,  too.  Yes,  and  she  was  no 
longer  falling,  but  soaring  up,  up,  winging  her  way  above, 
without  effort,  without  pain. 

The  savage  waves  were  receding,  their  voices  had  died 
to  a  low  murmur,  like  the  voice  of  a  still,  summer  sea  on 
a  low  foreshore.  Now,  too,  between  every  cry  she 
waited  for  that  answer  which  she  knew  must  be  forth- 
coming. It  was  some  man's  voice  she  was  awaiting, 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  ABYSS  409 

some  man,  whose  name  ever  eluded  her  searching  brain. 
She  strained  to  hear  till  the  pulses  of  her  ear-drums 
throbbed,  for  she  knew  when  she  heard  the  voice  she 
would  recognize  the  speaker. 

Hark,  there  it  was,  far,  far  away.  Yes,  she  could  hear 
it,  but  how  far  she  must  have  fallen.  There  it  was  again. 
It  was  louder,  and — nearer.  Again  and  again  it  came. 
It  was  quite  plain.  It  was  a  voice  that  set  her  brain  and 
heart  afire  with  longing.  It  was  a  voice  she  loved  more 
than  all  the  world.  Hark !  What  was  that  it  said  ? 
Yes,  there  it  was  again. 

"  Pore  little  gal,  pore  little  Joan." 

Now  she  knew,  and  a  flood  of  thankfulness  welled  up 
in  her  heart.  A  great  love  thrilled  through  her  veins,  and 
tears  flooded  her  eyes,  tears  of  thankfulness  and  joy. 
Tears  for  herself,  for  him,  for  all  the  world.  It  was  Buck's 
voice  full  of  pity  and  a  tender  love. 

In  a  moment  she  was  awake.  She  knew  she  was 
awake  to  a  sort  of  dazed  consciousness,  because  in- 
stantly her  brain  was  flooded  with  all  the  horror  of 
memory.  Memory  of  the  storm,  the  fire,  of  the  devasta- 
tion of  her  home. 

For  long  minutes  she  had  no  understanding  of  anything 
else.  She  was  consumed  by  the  tortures  of  that  memory. 
Yes,  it  was  still  storming,  she  could  hear  the  howling  of 
the  wind,  the  roar  of  thunder,  and  the  hiss  and  crackling 
of  fire.  Where  was  she  ?  Ah,  she  knew.  She  was  out- 
side, with  the  fire  before  and  behind  her.  And  her  aunt 
was  at  her  side.  She  reached  out  a  hand  to  reassure  her- 
self, and  touched  something  soft  and  warm.  But  what 
was  that  ?  Surely  it  was  Buck's  voice  again  ? 

"  Thank  God,  little  gal,  I  tho't  you  was  sure  dead." 


410  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

In  desperate  haste  she  struggled  to  rise  to  her  feet,  but 
everything  seemed  to  rock  and  sway  under  her.  And 
then,  as  Buck  spoke  again,  she  abandoned  her  efforts. 

"  Quiet,  little  gal,  lie  you  still,  or  I  can't  hold  you. 
You're  dead  safe  fer  the  moment.  I've  got  you.  We're 
tryin'  to  git  out  o'  this  hell,  Caesar  an'  me.  An'  Caesar's 
sure  dohV  his  best.  Don't  you  worrit.  The  Padre's  be- 
hind, an'  he's  got  your  auntie  safe." 

Joan's  mind  had  suddenly  become  quite  clear.  There 
was  no  longer  any  doubt  in  it.  Now  she  understood 
where  she  was.  Buck  had  come  to  save  her.  She  was  in 
his  arms,  on  Caesar's  back — and  she  knew  she  would  be 
saved. 

With  an  effort  she  opened  her  eyes  and  found  herself 
looking  into  the  dark  face  of  the  man  she  loved,  and  a 
great  sigh  of  contentment  escaped  her.  She  closed  them 
again,  but  it  was  only  to  open  them  almost  immediately. 
Again  she  remembered,  and  looked  about  her. 

Everywhere  was  the  lurid  glow  of  fire,  and  she  became 
aware  of  intense  heat.  Above  her  head  was  the  roar  of 
tempest,  and  the  vivid,  hellish  light  of  the  storm.  Buck 
had  called  it  "  hell." 

"The  whole  world  seems  to  be  afire,"  she  said  sud- 
denly. 

Buck  looked  down  into  her  pale  face. 

"  Well  nigh,"  he  said.  Then  he  added,  "  Yes,  it's  afire, 
sure.  It's  afire  that  bad  the  Almighty  alone  guesses  if 
we'll  git  out." 

But  his  doubt  inspired  no  apprehension.  Somehow 
Joan's  confidence  was  the  effect  of  his  strong  support- 
ing arm. 

She  stirred  again  in  his  arms.     But  it  was  very  gently. 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  ABYSS  411 

"  Buck,"  she  said,  "  let  me  sit  up.  It  will  ease  you — 
and  help  poor  Caesar.  I'm — I'm  not  afraid  now." 

Buck  gave  a  deep-throated  laugh.  He  felt  he  wanted 
to  laugh,  now  he  was  sure  that  Joan  was  alive. 

"You  don't  need.  Say,  you  don't  weigh  nuthin'. 
An'  Caesar,  why,  Caesar's  mighty  proud  I'm  lettin'  him 
carry  you." 

But  the  girl  had  her  way,  and,  in  a  moment,  was  sit- 
ting up  with  one  arm  about  the  man's  broad  shoulders. 
It  brought  her  face  near  to  his,  and  Buck  bent  his  head 
toward  her,  and  kissed  the  wonderful  ripe  lips  so  tempt- 
ingly adjacent. 

For  a  moment  Joan  abandoned  herself  to  the  joy  of 
that  kiss.  Then  the  rhythmic  sway  of  Caesar's  body  un- 
der her  reminded  her  that  there  were  other  things.  She 
wanted  to  ask  Buck  how  they  had  known  and  come  to 
her  help.  She  wanted  to  ask  a  dozen  woman's  questions. 
But  she  refrained.  Buck  had  spoken  of  "  hell,"  and  she 
gazed  about  her  seeking  the  reason  of  his  doubt. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  was  aware  of  it  all.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  realized  that  he  had  well  named  the  country 
through  which  they  were  riding.  In  a  few  minutes  she 
knew  that  it  was  a  race  for  life,  and  that  their  hope  was  in 
the  great  heart  of  Caesar. 

Far  as  the  eye  could  see  in  that  ruddy  light,  tortured 
and  distorted  by  the  flashes  of  storm  above,  was  an  ocean 
of  fire  spread  out.  The  crowning  billows  of  smoke,  like 
titanic  foam-crests,  rolled  away  upward  and  onward  be- 
fore them.  They,  too,  were  ruddy-tinted  by  the  reflection 
from  below.  They  crowded  in  every  direction.  They 
swept  along  abreast  of  them,  they  rose  up  behind  them, 
and  the  distance  was  lost  in  their  choking  midst.  The 


412  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

scorching  air  was  laden  to  suffocation  by  the  odors  of 
burning  resin.  She  knew  they  were  on  a  trail,  a  narrow, 
confined  trail,  which  was  lined  by  unburnt  woods.  And 
the  marvel  of  it  filled  her. 

"  These  woods  are  untouched,"  she  said. 

Again  Buck  laughed.  It  was  a  grim  laugh  which  had 
no  mirth,  but  yet  was  it  dashed  by  a  wonderful  reckless- 
ness. 

"  So  far,"  he  said.  Then  he  added,  with  a  quick  look 
up  at  the  belching  smoke,  "  If  they  weren't  I  don't  guess 
we'd  be  here  now.  Say,  it's  God's  mercy  sure  this  trail 
heads  from  the  farm  southeast.  Further  on  it  swings 
away  at  a  fork.  One  trail  goes  due  east,  an'  the  other 
sou' west.  One  of  'em's  sure  cut  by  the  fire.  An'  the 
other — wal,  it's  a  gamble  with  luck." 

"  It's  the  only  way  out  ?  "  The  girl's  eyes  were  wide 
with  her  question  and  the  knowledge  of  the  meaning  of  a 
reply  in  the  affirmative. 

"That's  so." 

"  We're  like — rats  in  a  trap." 

A  sharp  oath  escaped  the  man's  lips. 

"We  ain't  beat  yet,"  he  cried  fiercely. 

The  reply  was  the  heart  of  the  man  speaking.  Joan 
understood  it.  And  from  it  she  understood  more.  She 
understood  the  actual  peril  in  the  midst  of  which  they  were. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said.  Buck's  whole  at- 
tention was  upon  the  billows  of  smoke  and  the  lurid  re- 
flections thereon.  The  thunders  above  them,  the  blinding 
lightnings,  left  him  undisturbed.  The  wind,  the  smoke 
and  the  fire  were  his  only  concern  now.  Already,  ahead, 
he  could  see  in  the  vague  light  where  the  trail  gave  to  the 
left.  Beyond  that  was  the  fork. 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  ABYSS  413 

Joan  gave  no  thought  to  these  things.  She  had  no 
right  understanding  of  how  best  they  could  be  served. 
She  was  studying  the  face  of  the  man,  the  dark,  brave 
face  that  was  now  her  whole  world.  She  was  aware  of 
the  horseman  behind,  with  his  burden,  she  was  aware  of 
the  horrors  surrounding  them,  but  the  face  of  the  man 
held  her,  held  her  without  a  qualm  of  fear — now.  If 
death  lay  before  them  she  was  in  his  arms. 

Buck's  thoughts  were  far  enough  from  death.  He  had 
snatched  the  woman  he  loved  from  its  very  jaws,  and  he 
had  no  idea  of  yielding.  There  was  no  comfort  for  him 
in  the  thought  of  their  dying  together.  Living,  yes. 
Life  was  more  sweet  to  him  just  then  than  ever  it  had  been 
before.  And  he  meant  that  they  two  should  live  on,  and  on. 

They  passed  the  bend  and  the  forking  trail  loomed  up 
amidst  the  shadows.  The  crisis  had  come.  And  as  they 
reached  the  vital  spot  Buck  took  hold  of  the  horse  and 
reined  him  up.  In  a  moment  the  Padre  was  at  his  side 
with  his  inanimate  burden. 

Joan  stared  at  the  still  form  of  her  relative  while  the 
men  talked. 

"  It's  got  us  beat  to  the  eastward,"  said  Buck,  without 
a  moment's  hesitation. 

"Yes.    The  fire's  right  across  the  trail.    It's  impassable." 

The  Padre's  eyes  were  troubled.  The  eastward  trail  led 
to  the  open  plains. 

"  We  must  make  the  other,"  Buck  said  sharply,  gath- 
ering up  his  reins. 

"  Yes.     That  means " 

"  Devil's  Hill,  if  the  fire  ain't  ahead  of  us." 

"  And  if  it  is  ? "  Curiously  enough  the  Padre,  even, 
seemed  to  seek  guidance  from  Buck. 


4i4  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  It  sure  will  be  if  we  waste  time — talkin'." 

Caesar  leapt  at  his  bit  in  response  to  the  sharp  stroke  of 
the  spur. 

Now  Buck  had  no  thought  for  anything  but  the  swift 
traveling  fire  on  his  left.  It  was  the  pace  of  his  horse 
against  the  pace  at  which  the  gale  was  driving  this  fur- 
nace. It  was  the  great  heart  of  his  horse  against  endur- 
ance. Would  it  stand  the  test  with  its  double  burden  ? 
If  they  could  reach  that  bald,  black  hill,  there  was  safety 
and  rest.  If  not — but  they  must  reach  it.  They  must 
reach  it  if  it  was  the  last  service  he  ever  claimed  from  his 
faithful  servant.  For  once  in  his  life  the  mystery  of  the 
hill  afforded  Buck  hope  and  comfort.  For  once  it  was  a 
goal  to  be  yearned  for,  and  he  could  think  of  no  greater 
delight  than  to  rest  upon  its  black  summit  far  from  the 
reach  of  the  hungry  flames,  that  now,  like  an  invading 
army,  were  seeking  by  every  means  to  envelop  him. 

Could  they  make  it  ? 

A  hundred  thoughts  and  sensations  were  passing 
through  the  man's  body  and  mind.  He  was  sub-con- 
sciously estimating  Caesar's  power  by  the  gait  at  which 
he  was  traveling.  He  was  guessing  at  the  rate  of  the  rac- 
ing fire.  He  was  calculating  the  direction  of  the  wind  to 
an  absurd  fraction.  He  was  observing  without  interest 
the  racing  of  a  strangely  assorted  commingling  of  forest 
creatures  down  the  trail,  seeking  safety  in  flight  from  the 
speeding  fire.  He  cared  nothing  for  them.  He  had  no 
feelings  of  pity  for  anything  or  any  one  but  Joan.  Every 
hope  in  his  heart,  every  atom  of  power  in  his  body,  every 
thought  was  for  her  well-being  and  ultimate  safety.  Oh,  for 
the  rain  ;  oh,  for  such  a  rain  as  he  had  seen  that  time  before. 

But  the  storming  heavens  were  dry-eyed  and  merciless. 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  ABYSS  415 

That  freakish  phenomenon  of  a  raging  thunder-storm  with- 
out the  usual  deluge  of  rain  was  abroad  with  all  its  deadly 
danger.  It  was  extraordinary.  It  was  so  extraordinary 
that  Buck  was  utterly  at  a  loss.  Why,  why  ?  And  his 
impatient  questioning  remained  without  answer.  There 
had  been  every  indication  of  rain  and  yet  none  had 
come What  was  that  ? 

Caesar  suddenly  seemed  to  sway  drunkenly.  He  shook 
his  head  in  the  manner  of  a  horse  irritated,  and  alarm  set 
his  ears  flat  back  in  his  head,  and  he  stretched  his  neck, 
and,  of  his  own  accord,  increased  his  pace.  Buck  saw 
nothing  to  cause  this  sudden  disturbance  other  than  that 
which  had  been  with  them  all  the  time,  and  yet  his  horse's 
alarm  was  very  evident. 

A  moment  later  occurred  something  still  more  unusual. 
Caesar  stumbled.  He  did  not  fall.  It  was  a  mere  false 
step,  and,  as  he  recovered,  Buck  felt  the  poor  beast 
trembling  under  him.  Was  it  the  end  of  his  endurance  ? 
No.  The  horse  was  traveling  even  faster  than  before,  and 
he  found  it  necessary  to  check  the  faithful  creature,  an 
attention  that  quickly  aroused  its  opposition. 

Buck's  puzzled  eyes  lifted  from  his  horse  to  the  rapidly 
nearing  fire.  It  must  be  that  Caesar  must  have  realized 
its  proximity,  and,  in  his  effort  to  outstrip  it,  had  brought 
about  his  own  floundering.  So  he  no  longer  checked  the 
willing  creature,  and  the  race  went  on  at  the  very  limit  of 
the  horse's  pace.  Then,  in  a  moment,  again  came  that 
absurd  reeling  and  uncertainty.  And  Buck's  added 
puzzlement  found  expression  in  words,  while  his  eyes 
watched  closely  for  some  definite  cause. 

"  Ther's  suthin'  amiss  with  Caesar,"  he  said,  with  an 
unconcern  of  manner  which  his  words  belied. 


4i6  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  Joan's  eyes  lifted  to  his  in  sud- 
den alarm.  Then  she  added,  "  I  seemed  to  notice  some- 
thing." 

"  Seems  like  he's — drunk."     Buck  laughed. 

"  Perhaps — the  earth's  shaking.  I  shouldn't  wonder, 
with  this — this  storm." 

"Shaking?" 

Buck  echoed  her  word,  but  his  mind  had  suddenly 
seized  upon  it  with  a  different  thought  from  hers.  If  the 
earth  were  shaking,  it  would  not  be  with  the  storm  above. 
His  eyes  peered  ahead.  Devil's  Hill  lay  less  than  a  mile 
away,  and  that  was  where  he  reckoned  the  fire  would 
strike  the  trail.  Devil's  Hill.  A  sudden  uncomfortable 
repulsion  at  the  thought  of  its  barren  dome  took  hold  of 
him.  For  some  subtle  reason  it  no  longer  became  the 
haven  to  be  yearned  for  that  it  had  been.  Rather  was  it 
a  resting-place  to  be  sought  only  in  extremity — if  the 
earth  were  shaking. 

His  attention  now  became  divided  between  the  fire  and 
Caesar.  The  horse  was  evidently  laboring.  He  was 
moving  without  his  accustomed  freedom  of  gait,  and  yet 
he  did  not  seem  to  be  tiring. 

Half  the  distance  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  had  been  covered. 
The  fire  was  nearing  rapidly,  so  near  indeed  was  it  that  the 
air  was  alive  with  a  perfect  hail  of  glowing  sparks,  swept 
ahead  of  it  by  the  terrific  wind.  The  scorching  air  was 
becoming  unendurable,  and  the  mental  strain  made  the 
trail  seem  endless,  and  their  efforts  almost  hopeless. 
Buck  looked  down  at  the  girl's  patient  face. 

"  It's  hot — hot  as  hell,"  he  said  with  another  meaning- 
less laugh. 

The  girl  read  through  his  words  and  the  laugh — read 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  ABYSS  4*7 

through  them  to  the  thought  behind  them,  and  promptly 
protested. 

"  Don't  worry  for  me.     I  can  stand — anything  now." 

The  added  squeeze  of  her  arm  upon  his  shoulders  set 
Buck's  teeth  gritting. 

Suddenly  he  reined  Caesar  in. 

"  I  must  know  'bout  that — shakin',"  he  said. 

For  a  second  the  horse  stood  with  heaving  body.  It 
was  only  a  moment,  but  in  that  moment  he  spread  out  his 
feet  as  though  to  save  himself  from  falling.  Then  in 
answer  to  the  spur  he  sped  on. 

"  It's  the  earth,  sure,"  cried  Buck.  And  had  there  been 
another  escape  he  would  have  turned  from  the  barren  hill 
now  rising  amidst  the  banking  smoke-clouds  ahead  of  him. 

"  Earthquake  !  "  said  the  girl. 

"Yes." 

Nothing  more  was  said.  The  air  scorched  their  flesh, 
and  Joan  was  fearful  lest  the  falling  sparks  should  fire  her 
clothing.  With  every  passing  moment  Caesar  was  near- 
ing  their  forbidding  goal.  The  fire  was  so  adjacent  that 
the  roar  and  crackle  of  it  shrieked  in  their  ears,  and 
through  the  trees  shone  the  hideous  gleam  of  flame.  It 
was  neck  and  neck,  and  their  hope  lay  beneath  them. 
Buck  raked  the  creature's  flanks  again  with  his  spurs, 
and  the  gallant  beast  responded.  On,  on  they  sped  at  a 
gait  that  Buck  knew  well  could  not  last  for  long.  But 
with  every  stride  the  hill  was  coming  nearer,  and  it  al- 
most seemed  as  if  Caesar  understood  their  necessity,  and 
his  own.  Once  Joan  looked  back.  That  sturdy  horse  of 
the  Padre  was  doggedly  pursuing.  Step  for  step  he 
hugged  his  stable  companion's  trail,  brat  he  was  far,  far 
behind. 


4i 8  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  The  Padre,"  cried  Joan.     "  They  are  a  long  way  back." 

11  God  help  him  !  "  cried  Buck,  through  clenched  teeth. 
"  I  can't  To  wait  fer  him  sure  means  riskin'  you." 

"  But "  Joan  broke  off  and  turned  her  face  up  to 

the  canopy  of  smoke  driving  across  them.  "  Rain  ! "  she 
cried,  with  a  wild  thrill  of  hope.  "  Rain — and  in  a  deluge." 

In  a  moment  the  very  heavens  seemed  to  be  emptying 
their  reservoirs.  It  came,  not  in  drops,  but  in  streams  that 
smote  the  earth,  the  fire,  themselves  with  an  almost  crush- 
ing force.  In  less  than  half  a  minute  they  were  drenched 
to  the  skin,  and  the  water  was  pouring  in  streams  from 
their  extremities. 

"  We've  won  out,"  cried  Buck,  with  a  great  laugh. 

"  Thank  God,"  cried  Joan,  as  she  turned  her  scorched 
face  up  to  receive  the  grateful  water. 

Buck  eased  the  laboring  Caesar. 

"  That  fire  won't  travel  now,  an'— ther's  the  hill,"  the 
man  nodded. 

They  had  steadied  to  a  rapid  gallop.  The  hill,  as  Buck 
indicated,  was  just  ahead.  Joan's  anxious  eyes  looked  for 
the  beginning  of  the  slope.  Yes,  it  was  there.  Less  than 
two  hundred  yards  ahead. 

The  air  filled  with  steam  as  the  angry  fire  strove  to  bat- 
tle with  its  arch-enemy.  But  the  rain  was  as  merciless  in 
its  onslaught  as  had  been  the  storm,  and  the  fire  itself. 
The  latter  had  been  given  full  scope  to  work  its  mischief, 
and  now  it  was  being  called  to  its  account.  Heavier  and 
heavier  the  deluge  fell,  and  the  miracle  of  its  irresistible 
power  was  in  the  rapid  fading  of  the  ruddy  glow  in  the 
smoke-laden  atmosphere.  The  fire  was  beaten  from  the 
outset  and  its  retreat  before  the  opposing  element  was  like 
a  panic  flight. 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  ABYSS  419 

In  five  minutes  Caesar  was  clawing  his  way  up  over  the 
boulder-strewn  slopes  of  the  hill,  and  Joan  knew  that,  for 
the  time  at  least,  they  were  safe.  She  knew,  too,  if  the 
rain  held  for  a  couple  of  hours,  the  blazing  woods  would 
be  left  a  cold  waste  of  charred  wreckage. 

But  the  rain  did  not  hold.  It  lasted  something  less  than 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  It  was  like  a  merciful  act  of  Provi- 
dence that  came  at  the  one  moment  when  it  could  serve 
the  fugitives.  The  chances  had  been  all  against  them. 
Buck  had  known  it.  The  fire  must  have  met  them  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  and  so  barred  their  ultimate  escape.  The 
Padre  behind  had  been  inevitably  doomed. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  CATACLYSM 

TWO  hours  later  two  men  and  a  girl  gazed  out  from  the 
plateau  of  Devil's  Hill.  The  whole  earth  it  seemed  was  a 
raging  sea  of  fire.  Once  more  the  forests  were  ablaze  in 
every  direction.  The  blistering  tongues  of  fire  had  licked 
up  the  heavy  rain,  and  were  again  roaring  destruction 
over  the  land. 

Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  the  lurid  pall  of  smoke  was 
spread  out,  rolling  upward  and  onward,  borne  upon  the 
bosom  of  the  gale.  In  its  midst,  and  through  it,  the 
merciless  flames  leapt  up  and  up.  The  booming  of  fall- 
ing timbers,  and  the  roar  of  the  flames  smote  painfully 
upon  the  hearts  of  the  watchers.  It  was  a  spectacle  to 
crush  every  earthly  hope.  It  was  a  sight  so  painful  as  to 
drive  the  mind  of  man  distracted.  In  all  their  lives  these 
people  had  never  imagined  such  a  terror.  In  all  their 
lives  they  could  never  witness  such  again. 

They  stood  there  silent  and  awed.  They  stood  there 
with  eyes  straining  and  ear-drums  throbbing  with  the  din 
of  the  battle.  Their  horses  were  roaming  at  will  and  the 
still  form  of  Aunt  Mercy  was  at  their  feet.  There  was  no 
shelter.  There  was  no  hope.  Only  they  knew  that  where 
they  stood  was  safety,  at  least,  from  the  fire  below. 

Presently  Joan  knelt  at  her  aunt's  side  and  studied  her 
ashen  features  in  the  ruddy  light.  The  woman's  uncon- 
sciousness had  remained  through  all  that  journey  Or 
was  she  dead  ?  Joan  could  not  make  up  her  mind. 


THE  CATACLYSM  421 

Once,  as  she  knelt,  she  reeled  and  nearly  fell  across  that 
still  body.  And  when,  recovering  herself,  she  looked  up 
at  the  men  she  saw  that  they  were  braced,  with  feet  apart, 
supporting  each  other.  Then,  in  the  roar  of  the  storm 
she  heard  Buck's  voice  shouting  in  the  Padre's  ear. 

"  Guess — ther's  more  to  come  yet,"  he  said  with  a  pro- 
found significance. 

She  saw  the  Padre's  nod,  and  she  wondered  at  the  fresh 
danger  he  saw  ahead. 

Buck  turned  and  looked  out  over  the  desolate  plateau 
with  troubled  eyes.  She  followed  his  gaze.  Strangely 
she  had  little  fear,  even  with  that  trouble  in  her  lover's  eyes. 

The  plateau  was  desperately  gloomy.  It  was  hot,  too, 
up  there,  terribly  hot.  But  Joan  had  no  thought  for  that 
except  that  she  associated  it  with  the  hot  wind  blowing 
up  from  below.  Her  observation  was  narrowed  to  a 
complete  dependence  on  Buck.  He  was  her  hope,  her 
only  hope. 

Suddenly  she  saw  him  reel.  Then,  in  a  moment,  she 
saw  that  both  men  were  down  on  hands  and  knees,  and, 
almost  at  the  instant,  she,  herself,  was  hurled  flat  upon 
the  ground  beside  the  body  of  her  aunt. 

The  earth  was  rocking,  and  now  she  understood  more 
fully  her  lover's  trouble.  Her  courage  slowly  began  to 
ebb.  She  fought  against  it,  but  slowly  a  terror  of  that 
dreadful  hill  crept  up  in  her  heart,  and  she  longed  to  flee 
anywhere  from  it — anywhere  but  down  into  that  caldron 
of  fire  below.  But  the  thought  was  impossible.  Death 
was  on  every  hand  beyond  that  hill,  and  the  hill  itself  was 
— quaking. 

Now  Buck  was  speaking  again. 

"  We'll  have  to  git  som'ere  from  here,"  he  said. 


422  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

The  Padre  answered  him  — 

"  Where  ?  " 

It  was  an  admission  of  the  elder  man's  weakness.  Buck 
must  guide.  The  girl's  eyes  remained  upon  her  lover's 
face ;  she  was  awaiting  his  reply.  She  understood,  had 
always  known  it,  that  all  human  help  for  her  must  come 
from  him. 

Her  suspense  was  almost  breathless. 

"  There's  shelter  by  the  lake,"  Buck  said,  after  a  long 
pause.  "  We  can  get  to  leeward  of  the  rock,  an' — it's 
near  the  head  of  that  path  droppin'  to  the  creek.  The 
creek  seems  better  than  anywher'  else — after  this." 

His  manner  was  decided,  but  his  words  offered  poor 
enough  comfort. 

The  Padre  agreed,  and,  at  once,  they  moved  across  to 
Joan.  For  the  moment  the  earth  was  still  again.  Its  con- 
vulsive shudder  had  passed.  Joan  struggled  to  her  feet, 
but  her  increasing  terror  left  her  clinging  to  the  man  she 
loved.  The  Padre  silently  gathered  Mercy  into  his  arms, 
and  the  journey  across  the  plateau  began. 

But  as  they  moved  away  the  subterranean  forces  at- 
tacked again.  Again  came  that  awful  rocking,  and  shak- 
ing, which  left  them  struggling  for  a  foothold.  Twice 
they  were  driven  to  their  knees,  only  to  stagger  on  as  the 
convulsions  lessened.  It  was  a  nightmare  of  nervous  ten- 
sion. Every  step  of  the  journey  was  fraught  with  danger, 
and  every  moment  it  seemed  as  though  the  hill  must  fall 
beneath  them  to  a  crumbling  wreckage. 

With  heart-sick  apprehension  Joan  watched  the  growing 
form  of  the  great  rock,  which  formed  the  source  of  the 
lake,  as  it  loomed  out  of  the  smoke-laden  dusk.  It  was 
so  high,  so  sheer.  What  if  it  fell,  wrecked  with  those 


THE  CATACLYSM  423 

dreadful  earth  quakings  ?  But  her  terror  found  no  voice, 
no  protest.  She  would  not  add  to  the  burden  of  these 
men.  The  rock  passed  behind  them,  and  her  relief  was 
intense  as  the  shadow  was  swallowed  up  again  in  the 
gloom.  Then  a  further  relief  came  to  her  as  the  edge  of 
the  plateau  was  reached,  and  the  Padre  set  his  burden 
down  at  the  head  of  the  narrow  path  which  suggested  a 
possible  escape  to  the  creek  below. 

She  threw  herself  beside  her  aunt,  and  heard  Buck 
speaking  again  to  his  friend. 

"  Stop  right  here  with  the  women,"  he  said.  "  I'm  go- 
in'  around  that  lake — seems  to  me  we  need  to  get  a  peek 
at  it." 

Joan  understood  something  of  what  he  feared.  She  re- 
membered the  weirdness  of  that  suspended  lake,  and 
thought  with  a  shudder  of  the  dreadful  earth  quakings. 
So  she  watched  him  go  with  heart  well-nigh  breaking. 

Buck  moved  cautiously  away  into  the  gloom.  He 
knew  the  lake  shore  well.  The  evident  volcanic  origin  of 
it  might  well  answer  many  questions  and  doubts  in  his 
mind.  Its  rugged  shore  offered  almost  painful  difficulties 
with  the,  now,  incessant  quakings  below.  But  he  strug- 
gled on  till  he  came  to  the  eminence  he  sought.  Here  he 
took  up  a  position,  lying  on  his  stomach  so  that  he  had  a 
wide  view  of  the  surface  of  the  wind-swept  water. 

He  remained  for  a  long  while  watching,  watching,  and 
striving  to  digest  the  signs  he  beheld.  They  were  many, 
and  alarming.  But  their  full  meaning  was  difficult  to  his 
untutored  mind. 

Here  it  was  that  the  Padre  ultimately  found  him.  He 
had  been  gone  so  long  that  the  elder  man's  uneasiness  for 
his  safety  had  sent  him  in  search. 


424  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  What  d'you  make  of  it,  Buck  ?  "  he  demanded,  as  he 
came  up,  his  apprehensions  finding  no  place  in  his  manner. 

Buck  displayed  no  surprise.  He  did  not  even  turn  his 
head. 

"The  fires  are  hotting.  The  water's  nigh  boiling. 
There's  goin'  to  be  a  mighty  bust-up." 

The  Padre  looked  out  across  the  water. 

"  There's  fire  around  us,  fire  above  us,  and  now — fire 
under  us.  We've  got  to  choose  which  we're  going  to 
face,  Buck— quick." 

The  Padre's  voice  was  steady.  His  feelings  were  under 
perfect  control. 

Buck  laughed  grimly. 

"  Trier's  fire  we  know,  an'  fire  we  don't.  Guess  we  best 
take  the  fire  we  know." 

They  continued  to  gaze  out  across  the  lake  in  silence 
after  that.  Then  the  Padre  spoke  again. 

"  What  about  the  horses  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  question  seemed  to  trouble  Buck,  for  he  suddenly 
caught  his  breath.  But,  in  a  moment,  his  answer  came 
with  decision. 

"  Guess  they  must  take  their  chances,"  he  said.  "Same 
as  we  have  to.  I  hate  to  leave  him,  but  Caesar's  got  sense." 

"  Yes." 

The  Padre's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  one  spot  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  water.  It  was  quite  plain,  even  in  that  light, 
that  a  seething  turmoil  was  going  on  just  beneath  it.  He 
pointed  at  the  place,  but  went  on  talking  of  the  other 
things  in  his  mind. 

"  Say,  you  best  take  this  pocketbook.  We  may  get  sep- 
arated before  the  night's  out.  It's  half  the  farm  money. 
You  see — trier's  no  telling,"  he  ended  up  vaguely. 


THE  CATACLYSM  425 

For  one  instant  Buck  removed  his  eyes  from  the  surface 
of  the  lake  to  glance  at  the  snow-white  head  of  his  friend. 
Then  he  reached  out  and  took  the  pocketbook. 

"  Maybe  Joan' 11  need  it,  anyway,"  he  said,  and  thrust  it 
in  his  pocket.  "  We  must Say,  git  busy  !  Look!" 

Buck's  quick  eyes  had  suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  fresh 
disturbance  in  the  water.  Of  a  sudden  the  whole  surface 
of  the  lake  seemed  to  be  rising  in  a  great  commotion. 
And  as  he  finished  speaking  two  terrific  detonations 
roared  up  from  somewhere  directly  beneath  them. 

In  an  instant  both  men  were  on  their  feet  and  racing  in 
headlong  flight  for  the  point  where  they  had  left  the 
women. 

"  Get  Joan  !  "  shouted  the  Padre  from  behind.  He  was 
less  swift  of  foot  than  Buck.  "  Get  Joan  !  I'll  see  to  the 
other." 

Buck  reached  the  girl's  side.  She  had  heard  the  ex- 
plosions of  the  underworld  and  stood  shaking  with  terror. 

"  We're  up  agin  it,  Joan,"  he  cried.  And  before  the 
panic-stricken  girl  could  reply  she  was  in  his  strong  young 
arms  speeding  for  the  downward  path,  which  was  their 
only  hope. 

"  But  the  Padre  !  Aunt  Mercy  !  "  cried  Joan,  in  a  sud- 
den recollection. 

"They're  comin'  behind.  He'll  see  to  her God 

in  heaven  1 " 

A  deafening  roar,  a  hundred  times  greater  than  the  first 
explosions,  came  from  directly  beneath  the  man's  feet. 
The  air  was  full  of  it.  To  the  fugitives  it  was  as  if  the 
whole  world  had  suddenly  been  riven  asunder.  For  one 
flashing  moment  it  seemed  to  Buck  that  he  had  been 
struck  with  fearful  force  from  somewhere  behind  him,  and 


426  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

as  the  blow  fell  he  was  hurled  headlong  down  the  precif> 
itous  path. 

A  confused,  painful  sense  of  cruel  buffeting  left  him  only 
half-conscious.  There  was  a  roar  in  his  ears  like  the 
bombardment  of  unearthly  artillery.  It  filled  his  brain  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  else,  while  he  hugged  the  girl  close  in 
his  arms  with  some  instinct  of  saving  her,  and  shielding 
her  from  the  cruel  blows  with  his  own  body. 

Beyond  that  he  had  practically  no  sensation.  Beyond 
that  he  had  no  realization  whatever.  They  were  falling, 
falling,  and  every  limb  in  his  body  seemed  to  find  the  ob- 
structions with  deadly  certainty.  How  far,  how  long 
they  were  falling,  whither  the  awful  journey  was  carrying 
them,  these  things  passed  from  him  utterly. 

Then,  abruptly,  all  sensation  ceased.  The  limit  of  en- 
durance had  been  reached.  For  him,  at  least,  the  battle 
for  life  seemed  ended.  The  greater  forces  might  contest 
in  bitter  rage.  Element  might  war  with  element,  till  the 
whole  face  of  the  world  was  changed  ;  for  Providence,  in 
a  belated  mercy,  had  suspended  animation,  and  spared 
these  two  poor  atoms  of  humanity  a  further  witness  of  a 
conflict  of  forces  beyond  their  finite  understanding. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

ALONE—- 

"  BUCK  !    Buck ! " 

Faint  and  small,  the  cry  was  lost  in  the  wilderness  of 
silence.  It  died  out,  a  heart-broken  moan  of  despair, 
fading  to  nothingness  in  the  still,  desolate  world. 

Then  came  another  sound.  It  was  the  crash  of  a  fall- 
ing tree.  It  was  louder,  but  it,  too,  could  scarcely  break 
the  stillness,  so  silent  was  the  world,  so  desolate  was  it  in 
the  absence  of  all  life. 

Day  had  broken.  The  sky  was  brilliant  with  swift- 
speeding  clouds  of  fleecy  white.  The  great  sun  had  lifted 
well  above  the  horizon,  and  already  its  warming  rays  were 
thirstily  drinking  from  a  sodden,  rain-drenched  earth. 

The  perfect  calm  of  a  summer  morning  reigned.  Up 
above,  high  up,  where  it  was  quite  lost  to  the  desolation 
below,  a  great  wind  was  still  speeding  on  the  fleecy  storm- 
clouds,  brushing  them  from  its  path  and  replacing  them 
with  the  frothing  scud  of  a  glorious  day.  But  the  air  had 
not  yet  regained  its  wonted  freshness.  The  reek  of 
charred  timber  was  everywhere.  It  poisoned  the  air,  and 
held  memory  whence  it  would  willingly  escape. 

"  Oh,  Buck,  speak  to  me  !  Open  your  eyes  !  Oh,  my 
love,  my  dear,  dear  love  ! " 

The  cry  had  grown  in  pitch.  It  was  the  cry  of  a  woman 
whose  whole  soul  is  yearning  for  the  love  which  had  been 
ruthlessly  torn  from  her  bosom. 


428  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Again  it  died  away  in  a  sob  of  anguish,  and  all  was  still 
again.  Not  a  sound  broke  the  appalling  quiet.  Not  a 
leaf  rustled,  for  the  world  seemed  shorn  of  all  foliage. 
Not  a  sound  came  from  the  insect  world,  for  even  the 
smallest,  the  most  minute  of  such  life  seemed  to  have 
fled,  or  been  destroyed.  There  was  neither  the  flutter  of 
a  wing,  nor  the  voice  of  the  prowling  carnivora,  for  even 
the  winged  denizens  of  the  mountains  and  the  haunting 
scavengers  had  fled  in  terror  from  such  a  wilderness  of 
desolation. 

"  Buck,  oh,  my  Buck !  Speak,  speak !  He's  dead  ! 
Oh,  my  God,  he's  dead  ! " 

Louder  the  voice  came,  and  now  in  its  wail  was  a  note 
of  hysteria.  Fear  had  made  harsh  the  velvet  woman's 
tones.  Fear,  and  a  rising  resentment  against  the  cruel 
sentence  that  had  been  passed  upon  her. 

She  crouched  down,  rocking  herself  amidst  a  low  scrub 
upon  which  the  dead  leaves  still  hung  where  the  fires  had 
scorched  them.  But  the  fire  had  not  actually  passed  over 
them.  A  wide  spread  of  barren  rock  intervened  between 
the  now  skeleton  woods  and  where  the  girl  sat  huddled. 

In  front  of  her  lay  the  figure  of  a  man,  disheveled  and 
bleeding,  and  scarcely  recognizable  for  the  staunch  youth 
who  had  yielded  himself  to  the  buffets  of  life  that  the 
woman  he  loved  might  be  spared. 

But  Joan  only  saw  the  radiant  young  face  she  loved,  the 
slim,  graceful  figure  so  full  of  life  and  strength.  He  was 
hers.  And — and  death  had  snatched  him  from  her. 
Death  had  claimed  him,  when  all  that  she  could  ever  long 
for  seemed  to  be  within  her  grasp.  Death,  ruthless, 
fierce,  hateful  death  had  crushed  out  that  life  in  its  cruel- 
lest, most  merciless  fashion. 


ALONE—  429 

She  saw  nothing  of  the  ruin  which  lay  about  her.  She 
had  no  thought  of  anything  else,  she  had  no  thought  of 
those  others.  All  she  knew  was  that  her  Buck,  her  brave 
Buck,  lay  before  her — dead. 

The  girl  suddenly  turned  her  despairing  eyes  to  the 
white  heavens,  their  deep  blue  depths  turned  to  a  won- 
derful violet  of  emotion.  Her  wealth  of  golden  hair  hung 
loose  about  her  shoulders,  trailing  about  her  on  the  sod- 
den earth,  where  it  had  fallen  in  the  midst  of  the  disaster 
that  had  come  upon  her.  Her  rounded  young  figure  was 
bent  like  the  figure  of  an  aged  woman,  and  the  drawn  lines 
of  anguish  on  her  beautiful  face  gave  her  an  age  she  did 
not  possess. 

"Oh,  he  is  not  dead!"  she  cried,  in  a  vain  appeal. 
"  Tell  me  he  is  not  dead  ! "  she  cried,  to  the  limitless  space 
beyond  the  clouds.  "  He  is  all  I  have,  all  I  have  in  the 
world.  Oh,  God,  have  mercy  upon  me !  Have  mercy  ! " 

Her  only  reply  was  the  stillness.  The  stillness  as  of 
death.  She  raised  her  hands  to  her  face.  There  were  no 
tears.  She  was  beyond  that  poor  comfort.  Dry,  hard  sobs 
racked  her  body,  and  drove  the  rising  fever  to  her  poor 
brain. 

For  long  moments  she  remained  thus. 

Then,  after  a  while,  her  sobs  ceased  and  she  became 
quite  still.  She  dropped  her  hands  inertly  from  her  face, 
and  let  them  lie  in  her  lap,  nerveless,  helpless,  while  she 
gazed  upon  the  well-loved  features,  so  pale  under  the 
grime  and  tanning  of  the  skin. 

She  sat  quite  still  for  many  minutes.  It  almost  seemed 
as  if  the  power  of  reason  had  at  last  left  her,  so  colorless 
was  her  look,  so  unchanging  was  her  vacant  expression. 
But  at  last  she  stirred.  And  with  her  movement  a  strange 


430  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

light  grew  in  her  eyes.  It  was  a  look  bordering  upon  the 
insane,  yet  it  was  full  of  resolve,  a  desperate  resolve. 
Her  lips  were  tightly  compressed,  and  she  breathed  hard. 

She  made  no  sound  There  were  no  further  lamenta- 
tions. Slowly  she  reached  out  one  hand  toward  the 
beloved  body.  Nor  was  the  movement  a  caress.  It 
passed  across  the  tattered  garments,  through  which  the 
painfully  contused  flesh  peered  hideously  out  at  her.  It 
moved  with  definite  purpose  toward  one  of  the  gaping 
holsters  upon  the  man's  waist-belt.  Her  hand  came  to  a 
pause  over  the  protruding  butt  of  a  revolver.  Just  for  a 
moment  there  was  hesitation.  Then  it  dropped  upon  it 
and  her  fingers  clasped  the  weapon  firmly.  She  withdrew 
it,  and  in  a  moment  it  rested  in  her  lap. 

She  gazed  down  upon  it  with  straining,  hopeless  eyes. 
It  was  as  if  she  were  struggling  to  nerve  herself  for  that  one 
last  act  of  cowardice  which  the  despairing  find  so  hard  to 
resist.  Then,  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  she  raised  the 
weapon  with  its  muzzle  ominously  pointing  at  her  bosom. 

Again  came  a  pause. 

Then  she  closed  her  eyes,  as  though  fearing  to  witness 
the  passing  of  the  daylight  from  her  life,  and  her  fore- 
finger moved  to  embrace  the  trigger.  It  reached  its 
object,  and  its  pressure  tightened. 

But  as  it  tightened,  and  the  trigger  even  moved,  she  felt 
the  warm  grip  of  a  hand  close  over  hers,  and  the  pistol 
was  turned  from  its  direction  with  a  wrench. 

Her  startled  eyes  abruptly  opened,  and  her  grip  upon 
the  weapon  relaxed,  while  a  cry  broke  from  her  ashen 
lips.  She  had  left  the  gun  in  Buck's  hand,  and  his  dark 
eyes  were  gazing  into  hers  from  his  bed  amongst  the 
crushed  branches  of  the  bush  amidst  which  he  was  lying. 


ALONE—  431 

For  long  moments  she  stared  at  him  almost  without 
understanding.  Then,  slowly,  the  color  returned  to  her 
cheeks  and  lips,  and  great  tears  of  joy  welled  up  into  her 
loving  eyes, 

"Buck,"  she  murmured,  as  the  heavy  tears  slowly 
rolled  down  her  cheeks,  and  her  bosom  heaved  with  un- 
speakable joy.  "  My — my  Buck." 

For  answer  the  man's  eyes  smiled.  Her  heaven  had 
opened  at  last 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

— IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

THE  golden  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens.  Its  splendor 
was  pouring  down  upon  a  gently  steaming  earth.  But 
all  its  joyous  light,  all  its  perfect  beneficence  could  not 
undo  one  particle  of  the  havoc  the  long  dark  hours  of 
night  had  wrought. 

High  up  on  a  shattered  eminence,  where  a  sea  of 
tumbled  rock  marked  the  face  of  Devil's  Hill,  where  the 
great  hot  lake  had  been  held  suspended,  Joan  and  Buck 
gazed  out  upon  the  battle-ground  of  nature's  forces. 

Presently  the  girl's  eyes  came  back  to  the  face  of  her 
lover.  She  could  not  long  keep  them  from  the  face, 
which,  such  a  few  hours  ago,  she  had  believed  she  would 
never  behold  again  in  life.  She  felt  as  though  he  were 
one  returned  to  her  from  the  grave,  and  feared  lest  she 
should  wake  to  find  his  returning  only  a  dream. 

He  was  a  strange  figure.  The  tattered  remains  of  his 
clothing  were  scarcely  enough  to  cover  his  nakedness, 
and  Joan,  with  loving,  unskilled  hands,  had  iavered  and 
dressed  his  wounds  with  portions  of  her  own  undergar- 
ments and  the  waters  of  the  creek,  whither,  earlier,  she 
had  laboriously  supported  his  enfeebled  body.  But 
Providence  had  spared  him  an  added  mercy  besides 
bringing  him  back  to  life.  It  seemed  a  sheer  miracle 
that  his  bones  had  been  left  whole.  His  flesh  was  torn, 
his  whole  body  was  terribly  bruised  and  lacerated,  but 


—IN  THE  WILDERNESS  433 

that  worst  of  all  disasters  in  life  had  been  spared  him, 
and  he  was  left  with  the  painful  use  of  every  limb. 

But  the  thought  of  this  miracle  left  the  man  untouched. 
Only  did  Joan  remember,  and  offer  up  her  thankfulness. 
The  man  was  of  the  wild,  he  was  young,  life  was  with 
him,  life  with  all  its  joys  and  sorrows,  all  its  shadowy 
possibilities,  so  he  recked  nothing  of  what  he  had  escaped. 
That  was  his  way. 

While  Joan's  devoted  eyes  watched  the  steady  light  in 
his,  staring  out  so  intently  at  the  wreck  of  world  before 
him,  no  word  passed  her  lips.  It  was  as  though  he  were 
the  lord  of  their  fate  and  she  waited  his  commands. 

But  for  long  Buck  had  no  thought  for  their  personal 
concerns.  He  forgot  even  the  pains  which  racked  his  torn 
body,  he  forgot  even  the  regrets  which  the  destruction  he 
now  beheld  had  first  inspired  him  with.  He  was  marvel- 
ing, he  was  awed  at  the  thought  of  those  dread  elements, 
those  titanic  forces  he  had  witnessed  at  play. 

There  lay  the  hideous  skeleton  picked  bare  to  the 
bones.  Every  semblance  of  the  beauty  lines,  which,  in 
the  earth's  mature  completion,  it  had  worn,  had  vanished, 
and  only  mouldering  remains  were  left.  How  had  it 
happened  ?  What  terrible,  or  sublime  purpose,  had 
been  achieved  during  that  night  of  terror  ?  He  could  not 
think. 

His  eyes  dropped  to  that  which  lay  immediately  before 
him.  He  was  gazing  into  chaotic  depths  of  torn  black 
rock  amidst  which  a  great  cascade  of  water  poured  out 
from  the  bowels  of  the  earth  and  flowed  on  to  join  the 
wraters  of  Yellow  Creek.  It  was  the  site  where  had  hung 
the  suspended  lake.  Half  the  great  hill  had  been  torn 
away  by  some  terrible  subterranean  upheaval,  which 


434  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

seemed  to  have  solely  occurred  on  that  side  where  the 
lake  had  been,  and  wiirre  the  hill  had  confronted  the 
distant  camp.  Gone  Ty^re  the  workings  of  the  miners. 
Gone  was  that  great  bed  of  auriferous  soil.  And  in  their 
places  lay  an  ocean  of  rock,  so  vast,  so  torn,  that  the 
power  which  had  hurled  it  broadcast  was  inconceivable 
to  his  staggered  mind. 

For  a  while  he  contemplated  the  scene  with  thoughts 
struggling  and  emotions  stirring.  Then  with  a  sigh  he 
\ooked  out  beyond.  The  valley  of  the  creek,  that  little 
Barrow  strip  of  open  grass-land,  bordered  by  pine  forests 
all  its  length,  was  gone,  too.  The  creek  was  now  a 
wide-spread  expanse  of  flowing  water,  which  had  swept 
from  its  path  the  last  vestige  of  the  handiwork  of  those 
people  who  had  lived  upon  the  banks  of  the  original 
stream. 

There  was  not  a  sign  of  a  house  or  log  hut  to  be  seen 
anywhere.  Gone,  gone,  swept  away  like  the  buildings 
of  children's  toy  bricks. 

What  of  those  who  had  dwelt  where  the  water  now 
flowed  ?  Had  they,  too,  gone  on  the  rushing  tide  ?  He 
wondered.  Where  had  been  their  escape  ?  Maybe  they 
had  had  time.  And  yet,  somehow  it  seemed  doubtful. 
The  skeleton  forests  stretched  out  on  every  hand  to  a 
great  distance.  They  backed  where  the  camp  had  stood. 
They  rose  up  beyond  the  northern  limits.  To  the  west 
of  the  water  it  was  the  same.  Had  he  not  witnessed  the 
furnace  upon  that  side?  And  here,  here  to  the  south 
would  they  have  faced  this  terrible  barrier  belching  out 
its  torrential  waters,  perhaps  amidst  fire  and  smoke  ? 

He  did  not  tknow.  He  could  not  think.  They  were 
gone  as  everything  else  that  indicated  life  was  gone, 


—IN  THE  WILDERNESS  435 

and — they  two  were  left  alone  in  a  wilderness  of  stricken 
earth. 

He  sighed  again  as  he  thought  of  the  gracious  woods 
which  the  long  centuries  had  built  up.  All  Nature's 
wonderful  labors,  the  patient  efforts  of  ages,  wiped  out  in 
a  few  moments  of  her  own  freakish  mood.  It  was  heart- 
breaking to  one  who  had  always  loved  the  wild  hills 
where  the  all-powerful  Dame's  whimsies  had  so  long  run 
riot. 

Then  as  he  stared  out  upon  the  steaming  horizon  where 
hills  greater  and  greater  rose  up  confronting  him  and 
narrowed  the  limits  of  his  vision,  he  saw  where  the  divid- 
ing line  ran.  He  remembered  suddenly  that  even  in  her 
destructions  Nature  had  still  controlled.  The  floods  of 
the  heavens  must  have  been  abruptly  poured  out  at  some 
time  during  the  night,  or  the  fire  would  still  be  raging  on, 
searching  out  fresh  fuel  beyond  those  hills,  traveling  on 
on  and  on  through  the  limitless  forests  which  lay  to  the 
north,  and  south,  and  west. 

The  memory  gave  him  fresh  hope.  It  told  him  that 
the  world  was  still  outside  waiting  to  welcome  them  to 
its  hostels.  And  so  he  turned  at  last  to  the  patient 
woman  at  his  side. 

"  It  seems  so  a'mighty  queer,  little  Joan,"  he  said 
gently.  "  It  seems  so  a'mighty  queer  I  can't  rightly  get 
the  hang  of  things.  Yesterday — yesterday — why,  yester- 
day all  this,"  he  waved  an  arm  to  indicate  the  broken 
world  about  him,  "  was  as  God  made  it,  an'  now  ther's 
jest  ruin — blank  ruin  that'll  take  all  your  life,  and  mine, 
an'  dozens  who're  comin*  after  us  to — to  build  up  agin. 
Yesterday  this  camp  was  full  of  busy  folk  chasin'  a  livin' 
from  the  products  Nature  had  set  here.  Now  she's  wiped 


436  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

'em  out.  Why?  Yesterday  a  good  man  was  threatened 
by  man's  law,  an'  it  looked  as  if  that  law  was  to  suck  us 
all  into  its  web  an'  make  criminals  of  us.  Now  he's  gone 
an'  the  law'll  be  chased  back  to  hunt  around  for  its  prey 
in  places  with  less  danger  to  'em.  It's  all  queer — mighty 
queer.  An'  it's  queerer  still  to  think  of  you  an'  me  sittin' 
here  puzzlin'  out  these  things." 

"  Yes." 

Joan  nodded  without  removing  her  eyes  from  the  face 
she  loved  so  well.  Then  after  a  pause  she  went  on  — 

"  You  think— he's  dead  ?  " 

Buck  was  some  time  before  he  answered  her.  His 
grave  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  spot  across  the  water,  where  a 
break  in  the  charred  remains  of  the  forest  revealed  a  sky- 
line of  green  grass. 

"  How  else?"  he  said,  at  last.  "  He  was  behind  me 
with  your  aunt.  He  was  on  the  hill.  You've  scoured 
what  remains  of  the  plateau.  Wai,  he  ain't  there,  an'  he 
didn't  come  down  the  path  wher'  we  come.  We  ain't  see 
'em  anyways.  Yep,"  he  went  on,  with  a  sigh,  "  guess 
the  Padre's  dead,  an'  one  o'  them  rocks  down  ther'  is 
markin'  his  grave.  Seems  queer.  He  went  with  her. 
She  was  the  woman  he  had  loved.  They've  gone  to- 
gether, even  though  she  just — hated  him.  He  was  a 
good  man  an' — he'd  got  grit.  He  was  the  best  man  in 
the  world  an' — an'  my  big  friend." 

His  voice  was  husky  with  emotion,  and  something 
like  a  sob  came  with  his  last  word,  and  Joan's  eyes  filled 
with  tears  of  sympathy  and  regret. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  went  on,  after  a  pause.  "  I  ain't  got  it 
right.  The  fall  knocked  you  plumb  out.  An'  then  ?  " 

His  eyes  were  still  on  the  distant  break  of  the  trees. 


—IN  THE  WILDERNESS  437 

"I  don't  know  what  happened,"  Joan  said  wearily, 
spreading  out  her  drenched  skirt  to  the  now  blazing  sun. 
"  I  know  I  woke  up  quite  suddenly,  feeling  so  cold  that 
even  my  teeth  were  chattering.  The  rain  was  falling 
like — like  hailstones.  It  was  dark,  so  dark,  and  I  was 
terribly  afraid.  I  called  to  you,  but  got  no  answer,  and 
— and  I  thought  I  was  alone.  It  was  terrible.  The 
thunder  had  ceased,  and  the  lightning  was  no  longer 
playing.  There  was  no  longer  any  forest  fire,  or — or 
earthquakings.  All  was  still  and  black,  and  the  rain — 
oh,  it  was  dreadful.  I  sat  where  I  was,  calling  you  at 
intervals.  I  sat  on,  and  on,  and  on,  till  I  thought  the 
dark  would  never  go,  that  day  would  never  break  again, 
and  I  began  to  think  that  all  the  world  had  come  to  an 
end,  and  I,  alone,  was  left.  Then  at  last  the  rain  stopped, 
and  I  saw  that  day  was  breaking.  But  it  was  not  until 
broad  daylight  that  I  knew  where  I  was.  And  then — 
and  then  I  saw  you  lying  close  at  my  feet.  Oh,  Buck, 
don't  let  me  think  of  it  any  more.  Don't  remind  me  of 
it.  It  was  awful.  I  believed  you  were  dead — dead.  And 
it  seemed  to  me  that  my  heart  died,  too.  It  was  so 
dreadful  that  I  think  I — I  was  mad.  And  then — you 
saved  me — again." 

Buck  raised  a  stiff  arm  and  gently  drew  her  toward 
him  with  a  wonderfully  protecting  movement.  The  girl 
yielded  herself  to  him,  and  he  kissed  her  sweet  upturned 
lips. 

"  No,  little  Joan,  gal.  Don't  you  think  of  it.  We  got 
other  things  to  think  of — a  whole  heap." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  the  girl  eagerly.  "  We've  got  life — 
together." 

Buck  nodded  with  a  grave  smile. 


438  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

"  An'  we  must  sure  keep  it." 

He  released  her  and  struggled  to  his  feet,  where  he  stood 
supporting  himself  by  clinging  to  a  projection  of  rock. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Buck  ?  What  are  you  going  to 
do  ?  "  Joan  demanded  anxiously,  springing  to  her  feet  and 
shaking  out  her  drenched  skirt. 

"  Do  ?  Why,  look  yonder.  Ther'  across  the  water. 
Ther*  wher'  them  burnt-up  woods  break.  See  that  patch 
o'  grass  on  the  sky-line  ?  Look  close,  an'  you'll  see  two 
— somethings  standin'  right  ther'.  Wai,  we  got  to  git 
near  enough  that  way  so  Caesar  can  hear  my  whistle." 

"  Caesar  ?     Is— is  that  Caesar  ?     Why— how ?" 

Buck  nodded  his  head. 

"  Maybe  I'm  guessin'.  I  ain't  sayin'.  But — wal,  you 
can't  be  sure  this  ways  off.  Y'  see,  Caesar  has  a  heap  o' 
sense,  an'  his  saddle-bags  are  loaded  down  with  a  heap  o' 
good  iood.  An'  you're  needin'  that — same  as  me." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

LOVE'S  VICTORY 

THE  Tightness  of  Buck's  conjecture  was  proved  before 
evening,  but  not  without  long  and  painful  effort.  Joan 
was  utterly  weary,  and  the  man  was  reduced  to  such  weak- 
ness and  disability  as,  in  all  his  life,  he  had  never  known. 

But  they  faced  their  task  with  the  knowledge  that  with 
every  moment  of  delay  in  procuring  food  their  chances  of 
escape  from  that  land  of  ruin  were  lessening.  With  food, 
and,  consequently,  with  Buck's  horse,  safety  would  be  prac- 
tically assured.  They  would  then,  too,  be  able  to  prosecute 
a  search  for  the  man  they  both  had  learned  to  love  so  well. 

With  nightfall  their  hopes  were  realized,  but  only  at  a 
terrible  cost  to  the  man.  So  great  had  become  his  weak- 
ness and  suffering  that  it  was  Joan  who  was  forced  to 
make  provision  for  the  night. 

Both  horses  were  grazing  together  with  an  unconcern 
that  was  truly  equine.  Nor,  when  reviewed,  was  their 
escape  the  miracle  it  appeared.  At  the  height  of  the 
storm  they  had  been  left  on  the  farthest  confines  of  the 
plateau  of  Devil's  Hill,  where  no  fire  would  reach  them, 
and  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  lake.  Their 
native  terror  of  fire  would  have  held  them  there  in  a  state 
bordering  on  paralysis.  In  all  probability  no  power  on 
earth  could  have  induced  them  to  stir  from  the  spot  where 
they  had  been  left,  until  the  drenching  rain  had  blotted 
out  the  furnace  raging  below.  This  had  been  Buck's 
thought.  Then,  perhaps,  laboring  under  a  fear  of  the 
quakings  caused  by  the  subterranean  fires  of  the  hill,  and 


440  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

their  hungry  stomachs  crying  out  for  food,  they  had  left 
the  dreaded  hill  in  quest  of  the  pastures  they  craved. 

The  well-stocked  saddle-bags,  which  Buck's  forethought 
had  filled  for  the  long  trail,  now  provided  these  lonely 
wanderers  in  the  wilderness  with  the  food  they  needed, 
the  saddle-blankets  and  the  saddles  furnished  their  open- 
air  couches,  and  the  horses,  well,  the  horses  were  there  to 
afford  them  escape  when  the  time  came,  and,  in  the  mean- 
time, could  be  left  to  recover  from  the  effects  of  the  storm 
and  stress  through  which  they,  too,  had  passed. 

With  the  following  dawn  Buck's  improvement  was 
wonderful,  and  Joan  awoke  from  a  deep,  night-long 
slumber,  refreshed  and  hopeful.  An  overhauling  of  their 
supplies  showed  them  sufficient  food,  used  sparingly,  to 
last  a  week.  And  with  this  knowledge  Buck  outlined 
their  plans  to  the  girl,  who  hung  upon  his  every  word. 

"  We  can't  quit  yet,"  he  said,  when  they  had  broken 
their  fast. 

The  girl  waited,  watching  his  dark  contemplative  eyes 
as  they  looked  across  the  water  at  the  diminished  hill. 

"Nope,"  he  went  on.  "We  owe  him  more'n  that. 
We  must  chase  around,  an' — find  him.  We  must " 

"  Yes,"  Joan  broke  in,  her  eyes  full  of  eager  acquies- 
cence. "  We  must  not  leave  him — to — to — the  coyotes." 
She  shuddered. 

"  No.     Guess  I'll  git  the  horses." 

"  You?  Oh,  Buck — let  me.  I  am  well  and  strong.  It 
is  my  turn  to  do  something  now.  Your  work  is  surely 
finished." 

Her  pleading  eyes  smiled  up  into  his,  but  the  man  shook 
his  head  with  that  decision  she  had  come  to  recognize  and 
obey  almost  without  question. 


LOVE'S  VICTORY  441 

"  Not  on  your  life,  little  gal,"  he  said,  in  his  kindly, 
resolute  fashion,  and  Joan  was  left  to  take  her  woman's 
place  in  their  scheme  of  things. 

But  she  shared  in  the  search  of  the  hill  and  the  woods. 
She  shared  in  the  ceaseless  hunt  for  three  long,  weary, 
heart-breaking  days  over  a  land  of  desolation  and  loneli- 
ness. She  rode  at  Buck's  side  hour  after  hour  on  the 
sturdy  horse  that  had  served  the  Padre  so  faithfully,  till 
her  body  was  healthily  weary,  and  her  eyes  grew  heavy 
with  straining.  But  she  welcomed  the  work.  For,  with 
the  tender  mother  eye  of  the  woman  in  her,  she  beheld 
that  which  gladdened  her  heart,  and  made  the  hardest 
work  a  mere  labor  of  love.  Each  passing  day,  almost 
with  each  passing  hour,  she  witnessed  the  returning  vigor 
of  the  man  she  loved.  His  recuperative  powers  were 
marvelous,  and  she  watched  his  bodily  healing  as  though 
he  were  her  own  helpless  offspring. 

For  the  rest  their  search  was  hopeless.  The  battling 
forces  of  a  storm-riven  earth  had  claimed  their  toll  to  the 
last  fraction,  and  with  the  cunning  of  the  miser  had 
secreted  the  levy.  Not  a  trace  was  there  of  any  human 
life  but  their  own.  The  waters  from  the  hill  swept  the 
little  valley,  and  hugged  to  their  bosom  the  secrets  that 
lay  beneath  their  surface.  And  the  fall  of  rock  held 
deeply  buried  all  that  which  it  had  embraced  in  its  rend- 
ing. The  farm  was  utterly  destroyed,  and  with  it  had 
fallen  victims  every  head  of  stock  Joan  had  possessed. 
The  old  fur  fort  had  yielded  to  the  fire  demon,  where,  for 
all  the  ages,  it  had  resisted  the  havoc  of  storm.  There 
was  nothing  left  to  mark  the  handiwork  of  man,  nothing 
but  the  terrible  destruction  it  had  brought  about. 

Thus  it  was  on  the  fourth  morning,  after  breaking  their 


442  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

fast,  and  the  horses  had  been  saddled,  Buck  once  more 
packed  the  saddle-bags  and  strapped  them  into  their 
places  behind  the  saddles.  Joan  watched  him  without 
question.  She  no  longer  had  any  question  for  that  which 
he  chose  to  ordain. 

When  all  was  ready  he  lifted  her  into  her  saddle,  which 
she  rode  astride,  in  the  manner  of  the  prairie.  She  was 
conscious  of  his  strength,  now  returned  to  its  full  capacity. 
She  was  nothing  in  his  arms  now,  she  might  have  been  a 
child  by  the  ease  with  which  he  lifted  her.  He  looked  to 
her  horse's  bridle,  he  saw  that  she  was  comfortable.  Then 
he  vaulted  into  Caesar's  saddle  with  all  his  old  agility. 

"Which  way,  Buck?"  The  girl  spoke  with  the  easy 
manner  of  one  who  has  little  concern,  but  her  eyes  belied 
her  words.  A  strange  thrill  was  storming  in  her  bosom. 

"  Leeson  Butte,"  said  Buck,  a  deep  glow  shining  in  his 
dark  eyes. 

Joan  let  her  horse  amble  beside  the  measured,  stately 
walk  of  Caesar.  Her  reins  hung  loose,  and  her  beautiful 
eyes  were  shining  as  they  gazed  out  eagerly  ahead.  She 
was  thrilling  with  a  happiness  that  conflicted  with  a 
strange  nervousness  at  the  naming  of  their  destination. 
She  had  no  protest  to  offer,  no  question.  It  was  as  if  the 
lord  of  her  destiny  had  spoken,  and  it  was  her  happiness 
and  desire  to  obey. 

They  rode  on,  and  their  way  lay  amidst  the  charred 
skeleton  of  a  wide,  stately  wood.  The  air  was  still  faint 
W7ith  the  reek  of  burning.  There  was  no  darkness  here 
beyond  the  blackened  tree  trunks,  for  the  brilliant  summer 
sun  lit  up  the  glades,  which,  for  ages,  no  sun's  rays  had 
ever  penetrated.  The  sense  of  ruin  was  passing  from  the 
minds  of  these  children  of  the  wilderness.  Their  focus 


LOVE'S  VICTORY  443 

had  already  adapted  itself.  Almost,  even,  their  youthful 
eyes  and  hearts  saw  new  beauties  springing  up  about 
them.  It  was  the  work  of  that  wonderful  fount  of  hope, 
which  dies  so  hardly  in  us  all,  and  in  youth  never. 

At  length  they  left  the  mouldering  skeletons  behind 
them,  and  the  gracious,  waving,  tawny  grass  of  the  plains 
opened  out  before  their  gladdened  eyes.  A  light  breeze 
tempered  the  glorious  sunlight,  and  set  ripples  afloat  upon 
the  waving  crests  of  the  motionless  rollers  of  a  grassy 
ocean. 

Buck  drew  his  horse  down  to  a  walk  beside  the 
girl,  and  his  look  had  lost  its  reflection  of  the  sadness 
they  were  leaving  behind.  He  had  no  desire  now  to  look 
back.  For  all  his  life  the  memory  of  his  "  big  friend " 
would  remain,  for  the  rest  his  way  lay  directly  ahead,  his 
life,  and  his — hope. 

"  It's  all  wonderful — wonderful  out  here,  little  Joan/'  he 
said,  smiling  tenderly  down  upon  her  sweet  face  from  the 
superior  height  at  which  Caesar  carried  him.  "  Seems 
like  we're  goin'  to  read  pages  of  a — fresh  book.  Seems 
like  the  old  book's  all  mussed  up,  so  we  can't  learn  its 
lessons  ever  again." 

Joan  returned  the  warmth  of  his  gaze.  But  she  shook 
her  head  with  an  assumption  of  wisdom. 

"  It's  the  same  book,  dear,  only  it's  a  different  chapter. 
You  see  the  story  always  goes  on.  It  must  go  on — to  the 
end.  Characters  drop  out.  They  die,  or  are — killed. 
Incidents  happen,  some  pleasant,  some — full  of  sadness. 
But  that's  all  part  of  the  story,  and  must  be.  The  story 
always  goes  on  to  the  end.  You  see,"  she  added  with  a 
tender  smile,  "  the  hero's  stilt  in  the  picture." 

"  An'  the— gal-hero." 


444  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

Joan  shook  her  head  decidedly. 

"  There's  no  heroine  to  this  story,"  she  said.  "  You 
need  courage  to  be  a  heroine,  and  I — I  have  none.  Do 
you  know,  Buck,"  she  went  on  seriously, "  when  I  look  back 
on  all  that's  gone  I  realize  how  much  my  own  silly  weak- 
ness has  caused  the  trouble.  If  I  had  only  had  the  cour- 
age to  laugh  at  my  aunt's  prophecies,  my  aunt's  distorted 
pronouncements,  all  this  trouble  would  have  been  saved. 
I  should  never  have  come  to  the  farm.  My  aunt  would 
never  have  found  the  Padre.  Those  men  would  never 
have  fired  those  woods  when  they  burnt  my  farm,  and — 
and  the  gentle-hearted  Padre  would  never  have  lost  his  life." 

It  was  Buck's  turn  to  shake  his  head. 

"  Wrong,  wrong,  little  gal,"  he  said  with  a  warmth  of 
decision.  "  When  you  came  to  us — to  me,  an'  we  saw 
your  trouble,  we  jest  set  to  work  to  clear  a  heap  o'  cob- 
webs from  your  mind.  That  was  up  to  us,  because  you 
were  sure  sufferin',  and  you  needed  help.  But  all  we 
said,  all  we  told  you  not  to  believe,  those  things  were  sure 
marked  out,  an'  you,  an'  all  of  us  had  to  go  thro'  with  'em. 
We  can't  talk  away  the  plans  o'  Providence.  You  jest 
had  to  come  to  that  farm.  You  jest  had  to  do  all  the 
things  you  did.  Maybe  your  auntie,  in  that  queer  way  of 
hers,  told  you  the  truth,  maybe  she  saw  things  us  others 
didn't  jest  see.  Who  can  tell  ?  " 

Joan's  eyes  lit  with  a  startled  look  as  she  listened  to  the 
man's  words.  They  made  her  wonder  at  the  change  in 
him.  Had  that  terrible  cataclysm  impressed  him  with  a 
new  view  of  the  life  by  which  he  was  surrounded  ?  It 
might  be.  Then,  suddenly,  a  fresh  thought  occurred  to 
her.  A  memory  rose  up  and  confronted  her,  and  a  sud- 
den joyous  anxiety  thrilled  her. 


LOVE'S  VICTORY  445 

"  Do  you  really  think  that,  Buck  ?  "  she  cried  eagerly. 
11  Do  you  ?  Do  you  ?  " 

"  Things  seem  changed,  little  gal,"  he  said,  half  rue- 
fully. "  Seems  to  me  the  past  week's  been  years  an'  years 
long."  He  laughed.  "  Maybe  I  got  older.  Maybe  I 
think  those  things  now,  same  as  most  folks  think  'em — 
when  they  get  older." 

But  Joan  was  full  of  her  own  thought,  and  she  went  on 
eagerly,  passing  his  reasons  by. 

"  Listen,  Buck,  when  Aunt  Mercy  told  me  all  my 
troubles,  she  told  me  something  else.  But  it  seemed  so 
small  by  the  side  of  those  other  things,  that  I — that  I  al- 
most forgot  it.  What  was  it  ?  Her  words  ?  Yes,  yes,  I 
asked  her,  was  there  no  hope  for  me?  No  means  by 
which  I  could  be  saved  from  my  fate  ?  And  she  said  that 
my  only  hope  lay  in  finding  a  love  that  was  stronger  than 
death.  These  were  her  words  — 

"  '  I  loved  your  father  with  a  passion  nothing,  no  disas- 
ter could  destroy.  Go  you,  child,  and  find  you  such  a 
love.  Go  you  and  find  a  love  so  strong  that  no  disaster 
can  kill  it.  And  maybe  life  may  still  have  some  compensa- 
tions for  you,  maybe  it  will  lift  the  curse  from  your  suffer- 
ing shoulders.  It — it  is  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that 
is  stronger  than  disaster.  It  is  the  only  thing  in  the 
world  that  is  stronger  than — death.'  " 

Her  words  dropped  to  a  whisper  as  she  finished  speak- 
ing, and  she  waited,  like  a  criminal  awaiting  sentence, 
for  the  man's  judgment  on  them.  Her  eyes  were  down- 
cast, and  her  rounded  bosom  was  stirring  tumultuously. 
What  would  he  say  ?  What  would  he  think  ?  And  yet 
she  must  have  told  him.  Was  he  not  the  one  person  in 
the  world  who  held  her  fate  in  his  hands  ?  Yes,  he  must 


44<5  THE  GOLDEN  WOMAN 

know  all  there  was  in  her  mind.  And  she  knew  in  her 
heart  that  he  would  understand  as  she  wanted  him  to  un- 
derstand. 

Buck  suddenly  reined  Caesar  in,  and  brought  him  to  a 
standstill,  turning  him  about  so  that  he  looked  back  upon 
the  world  they  were  leaving  behind  them  forever.  In  si- 
lence Joan  responded  to  his  movement,  and  her  horse 
closed  up  against  the  other. 

"  Guess  your  auntie's  notions  were  all  queer,  so  queer 
they're  mighty  hard  to  understand,"  he  said  reflectively. 
"  But  seems  to  me  she's  hit  a  big  truth  some  way.  That 
curse  is  sure  lifted — sure,  sure." 

He  pointed  at  the  grim  outline  of  Devil's  Hill,  now  fad- 
ing in  the  distance. 

"  Look  ther'  yonder.  Vender's  the  disaster,  yonder  is — 
death.  An'  we — we've  sure  passed  through  it.  She's 
right.  Our  love  is  stronger  than  disaster — stronger  than 
death." 

Then  he  turned  and  gazed  ardently  into  her  upturned 
face.  "  Guess  we  sure  found  that  love  together,  little  gal. 
An'  it's  ours  to  keep  forever  an'  ever.  Ther'  ain't  no 
other  love  comin'  around.  I'm  yours  fer  jest  so  long  as  I 
have  life,  an'  you — wal,  you're  jest  my  whole,  whole  world." 

He  leant  toward  her,  his  dark  eyes  shining  with  his 
great  love.  Reaching  out  he  drew  her  toward  him,  his 
strong,  protecting  arm  encircling  her  slim  waist. 

"  Say,  little  gal,"  he  went  on  urgingly,  "  we're  goin' 
right  on  now  to  Leeson  Butte.  Ther's  a  passon  ther*  who 
can  fix  us  right.  An'  when  that's  done,  an'  ther*  ain't 
nuthin'  in  the  world  can  come  between  us,  why,  then  I 
sure  got  two  mighty  strong  hands  yearnin'  to  git  busy 
handin'  you  those  things  which  can  make  a  woman's  life 


LOVE'S  VICTPRY  447 

easy,  an' — an'  happy.  Will  you  come,  little  Joan  ?  Will 
you  sure  come  ?" 

His  eager  young  face  was  close  to  hers,  and  his  deep 
breath  fanned  her  warm  cheek.  She  gave  him  no  verbal 
reply.  At  that  moment  she  had  no  words.  But  she 
turned  toward  him.  And,  as  she  turned,  her  lips  met  his 
in  one  long,  passionate  kiss.  He  needed  no  other  reply. 
She  was  giving  him  herself.  It  was  the  soul  of  the  woman 
speaking. 

Some  moments  later  their  horses  were  again  heading 
for  Leeson  Butte.  The  eyes  of  the  girl  were  shining  with 
a  happiness  such  as  she  had  never  known  before,  and 
Buck  sat  with  head  erect,  and  the  light  of  a  great  purpose 
in  his  eyes.  For  a  while  they  rode  thus.  Then  the  man's 
eyes  twinkled  with  a  sudden  thought.  For  a  moment  he 
glanced  at  the  golden  head  so  close  beside  him.  Then  he 
smiled. 

"  Say,  little  Joan,"  he  cried,  "  guess  you're  that  gal- 
hero  after  all." 

Joan  responded  to  his  look. 

"  How  ?  "  she  inquired,  with  a  heightened  color. 

"  Why,  jest  git  a  look  at  me.  Me  !  You're  goin'  to 
marry  me  !  I'd  sure  say  you've  a  heap  more  grit  than 
any  gal-hero  I've  heard  tell  of." 

Joan  surveyed  his  unkempt  figure, — the  torn  clothing, 
his  unshaven  face  ;  the  bandages  made  of  her  own  un- 
dergarments, which  he  still  wore, — and  the  happy  smile 
on  her  young  face  broadened. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Buck,  dear,"  she  said  joyously,  "  you 
can't  be  a  proper  hero  if  you  don't  carry  the  scars  of  bat- 
tle on  you."  She  sighed  contentedly.  "  No,  I'm  afraid 
it  doesn't  need  much  '  grit '  to  marry  you." 


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